


Northern Winds

by 64thVanSull



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Benjen Knows the truth about Jon, Eventual Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, F/M, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow Raises Dragons, Jon Snow and Robb Stark are Best Friends, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is Robb's heir, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow meets and befriends Talisa, Ned Stark loves Jon Snow, Northerners have Viking qualities/traditions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64thVanSull/pseuds/64thVanSull
Summary: AU version of the show (with some elements from the books). Instead of joining the Night's Watch, Jon Snow rides south with his father to act as his sisters' protector and bodyguard. See how the life and destiny of Jon Snow will change when he chooses to ride south instead of north that fateful day.  No lemons.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Gendry Waters, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 73
Kudos: 94





	1. A Dragon wearing the pelt of a Direwolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything from GoT, or the Lord of the Rings Musical

A cold summer, only in the Northern region of Westeros could such a thing exist. Since the First Men arrived in Westeros thousands of years ago, the North had been under the rule and protection of house Stark. Before Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the conqueror, the noble house had ruled as the Kings in the North. Now, when the heir of house Stark would succeed his father, he would become the Lord Paramount and Warden of the North. The current Warden and head of house Stark was Eddard “Ned” Stark, second-born son to the previous Lord of Winterfell, Rickard Stark who died along with his first-born son Brandon at the hands of the Mad King, Areys II Targaryen. These deaths were part of the spark that started the war the world would come to know as Robert’s Rebellion. Seven years had passed since the war ended. House Baratheon was now ruling as the royal family since House Targaryen was nearly wiped out. All that remained of the dragon’s blood was the Mad King’s second son, Viserys Targaryen the Beggar Prince, and Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen his sister. 

But these were matters that did not concern the north, and Ned Stark made sure that his children would not have to worry about them until the right time. In all, the Lord of Winterfell had three legitimate children with another on the way, and one bastard son. His eldest was Robb Stark, a handsome young man who had both the looks of his father’s family and his mother’s. He had the face and attitude of a Stark, but the red hair of a Tully like his mother. At times, Ned could see the wolf’s blood show itself in his son, much like his late, elder brother. Sansa Stark, Ned’s first daughter, looked more Tully than Stark and was a true noble lady in the making. Even at a young age, the girl acted like her mother and dreamed of a handsome prince or lord one day coming to take her south to live a life of warmth, luxury and peace. Finally, Arya Stark was just a baby who was already showing more of a resemblance to her father than her mother. It was too early to tell, but Ned believed that his wife was pregnant with another son.

As for Ned’s bastard, he was named Jon but given the name Snow, as all northern bastards are given. Even though Ned Stark loved all his children equally, including Jon, the young bastard never felt as though he belonged in Winterfell and often thought he brought shame to his father’s honorable name. It also did not help that Catelyn Stark, formally Tully, constantly made Jon think this every time she would coldly glare at him for simply existing.

But, that was the furthest thing from Jon’s mind one particular morning. Word had spread throughout the North of Balon of House Greyjoy declaring himself king of the Iron Islands. Even at a young age, Jon knew a declaration like that meant rebellion and war against the Iron Throne. It also meant the king would gather the armies and leaders of his allies to help him put an end to the threat; and that most certainly meant calling Ned Stark to leave Winterfell and join him. Those thoughts sent fear into little Jon’s heart. Both for his father, and himself.

Lady Catelyn may not have ever laid a hand on the boy, but she let everyone, including Jon and her husband know how much she hated and distrusted him. A common excuse she made to convince Ned to send him away was that Jon would one-day rebel against Robb and steal Winterfell from him. Not that anyone believed that. Everyone in Winterfell knew how much Jon loved his brother and sisters and only ever wanted to make his father proud. Despite how their Warden’s wife viewed bastards, especially Jon, most Northerners treated bastards as equally as any other common folk. But Southerners had their own faith and views on bastards, and Catelyn Tully now had the Stark name and the most respected man in the North as her husband. In other words, no one but her husband could tell her to piss off and treat the boy fairly; not that Ned would out of respect for his marriage. Because of her hatred, Jon was afraid Lady Catelyn would use Ned’s absence as an opportunity to banish him from Winterfell, leaving him to die alone away from his pack. Ned suspected these fears and made sure to soothe his son that would never happen before he left to end the rebellion. But, Jon was still just a boy, and fear often filled children.

If it were not for Lady Stark’s daily doses of disdain and glares, Jon would probably be as happy as his brother. He loved the heir to Winterfell dearly, but Jon was always jealous of him. Not jealous in the way Lady Stark always feared, but jealous to the point where it was rare for anyone in Winterfell to see the young bastard happy or smiling for long periods of time. Robb had two guaranteed things since he was born, and it was possible for Jon to earn only one of them: the respect of and love of the people of Winterfell, and a mother’s love. These were what allowed Robb Stark to walk the grounds of his family’s ancestral home with his head held high every day while Jon’s was mostly low and looking at the ground in sadness.

However, Robb was not an arrogant boy who treated his half-brother as his mother and sister did. No, far from it. To Robb, it never made sense why his brother could not be treated the same as he was. Even though his mother was teaching him and his sister the ways of her southern faith, and how bastards were “supposed” to be viewed and treated, Robb loved his brother as much he loved him. They were raised together. They played together every day. They were always together when training with swords, or riding horses, or learning from Maester Lewin. In Robb’s eyes, Jon Snow was as much a Stark of Winterfell as he was and deserved to be treated as such. So whenever his bastard brother was sad, or brooding, Robb would try his best to take Jon’s mind off of whatever was making him depressed. But when he couldn’t, Jon had his own ways.

For the most part, practicing with his sword was how Jon approached his negative feelings. Every time he was angry at someone for mocking him as a bastard, or when Lady Catelyn insulted him to his face, or even when seeing the hateful woman sitting up at the table of his ancestors with his father and siblings at dinner became too much to bear, Jon would grab a practice sword, go outside and hack away at a training dummy until he was too cold to stay out any longer. But, when he was sad, there was something else he would do. 

Since Arya was born, Jon could often hear her mother singing to her whenever she woke up restless. It wasn’t so much as Lady Catelyn’s voice Jon enjoyed, but the concept of singing seemed to appeal to him. That, and on the rare occasions when music was played during special feasts, Jon enjoyed the instruments the minstrels played. One night in particular, a minstrel, who did not care that Jon was a bastard, gave him the harp they played after finishing their performance. It was the best gift the boy ever received and he cherished it greatly. So, whenever the Bastard of Winterfell felt sad, he would go into the Godswood at night, sit or stand by the Weir Tree, play his harp and sing. But at the present time, while Jon did feel sad, he could not go into the Godswood and play his music this night, for the events of this day prevented him from playing anytime soon.

The previous morning, while Jon was studying with Robb during one of Maester Luwin’s lessons. Jon always enjoyed his lessons when it came to the history of the great battles of Westeros. They were what shaped and changed the country more so than any king or lord. Robb, on the other hand, was bored and much preferred spending his day riding horses or sparing with his brother.

“And so, without needing to use the might of their dragons, Aegon Targaryen, and his sister wives, conquered the Vale and claimed yet another kingdom in their conquest.” Maester Lewin concluded to the brothers, “Now then-”

“What is the point in learning this?” Robb groaned in boredom, “Everyone knows what happened!”

“Yes, but do you know why it happened, little lord?” Luwin patiently asked having plenty of experience in dealing with the heir to Winterfell’s behavior.

“Because the Targaryens had dragons, that’s why.” Robb flatly replied.

“Yes, and no.” Luwin said causing the boy to look surprised while Jon raised his hand, “Yes, Jon?”

“It’s because the Arryns were arrogant.” Jon answered.

“Go on.” Luwin urged.

“The Arryns thought they were untouchable because of the Vale’s terrain and did not fortify their defenses. They did not take into consideration the dragons flying over it all and coming straight to The Eyrie. They just got lucky Visenya Targaryen didn’t burn it all like Aegon did to Harrenhall.”

“And what can we learn from the Arryns of old?” Luwin further pressed.

“Never underestimate your enemies.” Jon answered without hesitation, “Nothing is absolute, especially a castle’s defenses. All it takes is the right choice in actions and victory is won.”

“Quite right.” Luwin praised with a smile, “But there is _one_ absolute truth in this world, dear boys. Death. All men and women born into this world die. One way or another.”

As the Maester of Winterfell reminded the boys of this harsh truth, a knock on the door caught everyone’s attention. After the Maester gave permission to enter, Ser Jory Cassel came in with a small raven scroll in his hands.

“Ah, Jory. What brings you here this fine, summer morning?”

“Begging your pardon, Maester.” the captain of the guard politely said, “A raven just came from White Harbor.”

“What’s it say?” Robb immediately asked.

“Good news, my lord.” Jory smiled at the boys, “Your father is coming home. He is bringing the king and all the men who fought against the Greyjoys for a great feast.”

Hearing that their father was returning brought happy smiles to the boys’ faces. All of Winterfell missed the honorable Warden of the North, but none more than his family; especially Jon. However, it was clear to the old Maester that Jory had more to discuss.

“Was there anything else the scroll said, Jory?” Luwin pressed.

“Aye, there was. And it’s not something little boys need to hear.” Jory said nodding to the heir and bastard of Winterfell.

“Aye. You heard him, lads. Off you go.” Luwin said, shooing the boys out of their chairs. After leaving the room, Jon started to walk down the hall before noticing his brother was trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Robb, what are you doing?” Jon whispered.

“I wanna hear what they’re talking about, shush.” Robb whispered back. Going against his better judgement, Jon relented and joined his brother in listening to the conversation. Inside the room, they could somewhat hear what Jory was telling Luwin.

“Are you certain that’s what it said?” Luwin asked, slightly in disbelief.

“You sound surprised.” Jory scoffed, “You remember how outraged Lord Stark was over the deaths of the Targaryen children. From what my uncle told me, Lord Stark would have killed King Robert and Tywin Lannister that day had it not been for his vassals restraining him. Quite frankly, had things turned out differently, he probably would have this time around.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.” Luwin agreed, “But still, this is a surprise. And there are no others?”

“The only one left besides the boy is his elder sister.” Jory replied, “Balon Greyjoy may not hold to the same beliefs as the rest of Westeros, but even he would never allow a girl to be his heir. He’d sooner have his half-mad younger brother succeed him, instead.”

“Aye, he would.” Luwin nodded, “Raising a Greyjoy to be like a Stark won’t be an easy task, though, Jory. We’ll all have our work cut out for us, not just Lord Stark.”

“From what Lord Stark said, the boy is young enough to still be molded into a good man. He’s about the same age as Jon and Robb. Having those two with him may just make things easier for us.”

“Perhaps. But he’ll still be seen as a Greyjoy and this rebellion will have left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth about that family. Regardless of the fact Ned has taken him in as his ward.” Luwin pointed out.

“His ward?” Jon muttered as his brother shushed him. Thanks to Maester Luwin’s lessons, he knew exactly what a ward was and what that meant for Winterfell. Not wanting to get caught, and since there was nothing interesting left to hear, the boys quickly left the hall and went outside to discuss what they heard.

“Why would Father bring back a ward?” Robb asked his brother.

“I don’t know.” Jon shrugged, “Jory said something about the Targaryen children. Maybe Father’s bringing this Greyjoy boy back to keep him from being killed like they were.”

“Aye, that sounds like Father.” Robb nodded, “They’ll be here in a matter of days. Guess we’ll be getting another sparring partner sooner than we thought.”

“Aye.” Jon said with a small smile. 

For the next few days, the boys and their sister eagerly awaited the return of their father. Unfortunately for them, they had to listen to the annoying, dreamy voice of Sansa as she wondered what the new ward of Winterfell would be like. Despite both boys, and her mother, nearly constantly reminding her how the Greyjoys and Ironborn were kraken-worshiping pirates masquerading as a noble house, she still fantasied him being a gallant seafarer who might one day sail the world and bring her treasures and fine clothes simply to please her. And when she was not gushing about that ridiculous fantasy, she would gush about all the knights the king would bring doing the same thing. It got so annoying one day that Jon decided to go outside for at least one, peaceful moment. Of course, it did not last long courtesy of Lady Stark.

After leaving his half-siblings, Jon rested his head on his arms as he leaned on the wooden rails overseeing his home. But, as he did, he could hear the all too familiar sound of his father’s wife’s footsteps come towards him.

“Snow,” she curtly snapped with her look of disdain, “Come here.”

“Yes, Lady Stark?” he meekly asked under her glare.

“Today is when Lord Stark and the king shall arrive. As you know, it is customary for the family of the lord’s hold to greet and welcome the returning king, lords and knights.” Catelyn reminded.

“Yes, my lady.” Jon nodded, remembering what Maester Luwin taught him.

“Good. Which is why you shall not be present when Lord Stark and His Grace arrive.” she said coldly.

Hearing these words caused Jon to look up at the Lady of Winterfell in shock. Simply because he was a bastard, she was denying him to see his beloved father, who he hadn’t seen since shortly after his youngest sister was born. For eight months he hadn’t seen his father, and now this hateful, jealous woman told him he would have to wait until his father sought him out, whenever that would be.

“But, my lady-”

“I will not have you humiliate this family any further than you already have, bastard.” Catelyn cut off, “You will remain out of the king’s sight until he, and all the other lords have left Winterfell. Understand?”

“…I understand, Lady Stark.” Jon sadly nodded before Catelyn stomped off, wanting to get as far away from the boy as possible, “My lady?”

“What, Snow?” Catelyn barked as she turned to see the sad boy.

“If I am not allowed to see Father when he comes home, may I be in the Godswood at the time?” he asked.

“As long as you are not there.” Catelyn replied, “And do not call him your father in the presence of others. You are a bastard. A stain on his honor and the honor of House Stark. You are to address him as Lord Stark, nothing more.”

It was moments like this that made Jon Snow forget all the joy he might have had earlier with his brother, the only person aside from his father who did not treat him any less because of his name. Not being able to see his father, let alone call him as such broke the boy’s heart. So, with his chest heavy with sadness, Jon trudged to his room, grabbed his harp and made his way to the Godswood. He would not sing, but he would play in hopes to cheer himself up.

Holding the harp close to him, Jon headed to the stone arch that dignified as the entrance to Winterfell’s holy ground. As always, there were two guards dressed in Stark armor and helms assigned to protect the Godswood. Not that there really ever was a reason, but it showed all who saw them how strongly House Stark valued and stayed true to the faith of the old gods. Fortunately for Jon, it was always the same guards and they had grown rather fond of the Bastard of Winterfell. Before he received his harp, the two men almost loathed their boring positions and almost grew to resent it. But, thanks to the talented little boy with the most beautiful voice they ever heard, the men grew to love their positions just a little bit more.

“Good morning, little Snow.” one of the guards, named Jasper greeted kindly. He was an older man who had been serving House Stark since Jon’s uncle Benjen had been born. With as old as he was, Jon always imagined him as someone’s grandfather.

“Hello.” Jon quietly greeted as he clutched his harp.

“Lady Stark got you down, again?” the other guard asked with sympathy. This one’s name was Cole. A man from Wintertown who was offered a position in Winterfell’s guard by Benjen during Robert’s Rebellion to replace the many soldiers and guards that left to fight with Ned as his bannermen.

“Can I enter, please?” Jon asked, knowing it was not his place as a bastard to speak ill of his lord father’s wife.

“Of course, lad.” Cole gently reassured knowing how upset his lord’s wife made the boy, “You are always welcome in here.”

“Take as much time as you need.” Jasper said soothingly liked a kind grandfather.

Slowly walking through the arch, Jon made his way to the great Weirwood Tree of his ancestors. Despite grim face carved into the white tree, Jon never felt afraid of it like most children probably would. The gods of his faith did not have all the rules like Catelyn’s did, so he never felt judged like he knew her gods judged him. In fact, the tree’s face often reminded him of his father’s. Perhaps that was another reason why he felt so accepted whenever he would come into the Godswood. But now, with the cruel reminder of what he was still ringing through his ears, the boy just leaned against the tree, thought of a song and began to strum his cold, little fingers against the strings.

In the meantime, after riding along the King’s Road for who knows how long, Eddard Stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, atop his horse could see his ancestral home and the family he eagerly waited to see inside of it. Of course, the Quiet Wolf’s silent awe and longing was interrupted by his boisterous best friend and king.

“Seven Hells!” Robert Baratheon cursed loudly, “If I don’t find myself a tree or privy soon I’m gonna piss so hard I’ll carve out a new river for the entire North.”

“Aye, and that can be the song the minstrels sing to remember you by.” Ned smirked, “‘King Robert’s Golden River’ I’d wager they’d call it.”

“Ha!” Robert burst, “And they say you Northmen have no sense of humor. Now let’s hurry up and ride before I make the first verse all over this damn horse.”

“Ever the elegant speaker, our king.” Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard remarked with an amused smirk as he rode up to Ned’s side.

“Aye.” Ned nodded with a smirk of his own, “And he’s only gotten worse with age.”

With no more time to waste, the two brothers in bond led the victorious lords, knights, and Kingsguard through the gates of Winterfell where they were greeted by all who lived in the magnificent keep. Thankfully, Robert was able to keep his piss in check so he could finally meet and greet his best friend’s family. As Ned rode in, he saw his beautiful red-headed wife bowing while sneaking a glance up at him with a small, happy smile which he gave back. He could see his youngest daughter, Arya, wrapped in a bundle in his wife’s arms while their son and daughter were bowing at her sides. However, Ned immediately noticed Jon was not with them, or even in the crowd of people in service to him.

“Cat must have sent him away.” Ned thought. No matter how much he had grown to love his wife, how she treated the boy always disappointed and upset him. It was the one thing that caused friction in their marriage. Catelyn would say or do something to the boy to remind him what he was and then later demand Ned to send Jon away. This always resulted in Ned firmly denying her and saying since he was of his blood, the child would stay in Winterfell where he belonged. Hopefully, he could avoid that old argument after they retired and simply be a husband and wife reuniting after a long war-caused separation.

“ _Promise me, Ned._ ” a familiar voice filled his head. Every time he saw or, at least, thought of Jon, that voice and request rang through his ears. After dismounting his horse, Ned looked to his beloved family and home.

“My lord-husband.” Catelyn politely greeted.

“My lady-wife.” Ned greeted back with a smile as he helped her up. Being a Northman, Ned wasted no time in bringing her in for a loving kiss, careful not to smoosh the baby between them.

“Gods, now this is a keep!” Robert bellowed with praise as he dismounted his horse. As he did, his gold-armored Kingsguard dismounted and stood stoically, waiting to defend their king if need be. “Not like that shit smelling red one they have me locked up in down south.”

“Your Grace.” Catelyn greeted with a curtsy.

“Cat!” Robert happily greeted as he gave her a hug, “Look at you. As beautiful as the day you married this grim wolf.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Catelyn smiled as the king looked to her children.

“Hello, there.” he cooed warmly at baby Arya before moving to her other children, “This strapping, young lad must be Robb.”

“Aye, Your Grace.” Robb said with a respectful nod.

“And this pretty one must be Sansa.” Robert said looking down at the blushing girl.

“Pleased to meet you, Your Grace.” she said with a curtsy.

“Pleasure’s all mine, little lady.” he chuckled before darting his eyes around, “Where’s your bastard, Ned?” Robert asked, completely unaware of how it displeased Catelyn, “I want get a good look at him.”

“Cat?” Ned asked his wife.

“Your bastard is in the Godswood, my lord.” Catelyn replied almost stiffly.

“Oh.” Robert said in disappointment, “Well, no point in interrupting the lad from whatever it is he’s doing. I still need to take a right royal piss.”

The joke was not unlost to Robb which caused him to choke back a laugh while earning glares from his mother and sister. After the king and his Hand settled in, along with all the other knights and guests of Winterfell, Ned immediately headed towards the Godswood to see his son. With his lordly cloak catching the wind behind him as he walked, Ned made it to the guarded arch where his loyal men bowed their heads in respect.

“Welcome home, Lord Stark.” Jasper greeted with respect.

“My lord.” Cole nodded.

“Is he in there?” Ned asked getting straight to the point.

“Aye, he is.” Jasper nodded, “He’s barely played a tune since he got here. I think Lady Catelyn really upset him this time.”

“Hmm. As you were.” Ned said with a nod as he walked through. Sure enough, as he expected, his bastard son was sitting up against the heart tree with a sad face and his harp on the ground next to him.

“No songs today, ey?” Ned said with a small smile to his boy. At the sound of his father’s voice, Jon’s head snapped up and looked at him as though he were a dream.

“F-” Jon was about to address him as he normally did, but Lady Catelyn’s words rang through his ears before giving a small bow, “Lord Stark.” he said sadly.

“Lord Stark?” Ned chuckled lightly in confusion, “Since when does my own son feel the need to address me so formally?”

“L-Lady Catelyn said that since I’m a bastard, I should not be in the king’s presence and shame House Stark any more than I already have. And that I dishonor you and shouldn’t call you father.” Jon said timidly before hastily adding, “My-my lord.”

“Jon, you don’t need to call me that. Especially here of all places.” Ned told his boy who looked so confused and torn.

“But-but, I’m…” Jon stuttered as he tried to keep his tears under control, rapidly blinking as he did. But, when he saw his loving father get down on one knee to his level for him, with his arms open for him and a small, almost sad smile on his face, Jon relented. Running as fast as he could into his father’s arms, Jon sobbed and let lose all the tears he had been trying to burry within since Ned left. And Ned didn’t care in the slightest about all the tears and snot his boy was smearing into his cloak and clothes. All he cared about was reminding his little pup how much he loved him.

“I missed you.” Jon sniffled as Ned hugged him, “I missed you so much, Papa!”

“I missed you, too, my sweet boy.” Ned whispered as he held Jon tighter, “So very much.”

After holding his bastard and giving him the love he needed to feel, Ned led Jon back to the castle in order to address, probably, the most important matter of the Greyjoy’s Rebellion; Balon Greyjoy’s last living son. The boy in question had been escorted by members of Ned’s guard in order to keep an eye on him. After being brought into the great hall, little Theon Greyjoy was looking around at the grim looking place he would now be calling home while being kept prisoner. He did not want to admit it out loud to his captors, but the castle was rather impressive, in its own way; even with the lack of an ocean beneath it.

Lord Stark had already explained his situation on Pyke and on the way north. Until the king allowed it, Theon was not allowed to return to the Iron Islands or his family. Lord Stark was now his liege lord and Theon would have to obey him now that he was his ward. He was a Kraken as farther from the sea than any had been before him. He did not belong in this frozen den of wolves.

“Theon.” Ned had called gaining the boy’s attention.

This man was not his father. His father was on Pyke.

“Come. I’ll introduce you to my wife and children.” he said without any room for discussion.

That woman was not his mother and those children were not his siblings. His mother was dead and so were all his siblings except for his sister Yara. But as long as these people had the same name as his new liege lord, he had to show them the same courtesy and respect as him. Following Ned, Theon came face to face with the three Stark children, their mother, and Jon who he assumed was another Stark.

“Theon, this is my wife, Lady Catelyn of House Tully of the Riverlands.” Ned introduced.

“My lady.” Theon bowed while thinking, “Fresh-water fish-whore.”

“And these are our children. Robb, my heir and first-born. Sansa and Arya, our daughters.”

“A slobbering wolf and future plunder for the Iron Born.” Theon viciously thought as he bowed again.

“Who’s he?” Theon asked nodding towards Jon.

“Jon Snow.” Ned replied knowing his next words would cut through his pup, “My bastard son.”

“He’s not a Stark.” Theon thought trying to suppress his malicious grin. It was at that moment Theon was grateful to know what a bastard was. 

Night eventually fell on Winterfell, and the feast celebrating Robert’s victory rang through every hall of Winterfell; mostly on account of Robert himself and his drunken laughter. Not one for crowds, Jon decided to spend time outside and train with his sword. He wasn’t angry, but it was better to be sweating outside in the cold than sweating inside under Lady Catelyn’s glares. As he swung his sword, Jon finally noticed he had a spectator.

“Is he dead yet?” the familiar voice playfully asked. Swiftly turning his head, Jon saw his smiling, black-clad uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night’s Watch.

“Uncle!” Jon happily exclaimed before dropping his sword and running up to chuckling relative. Eager to embrace his nephew, Benjen took a knee and opened his arms for the boy and picked him up for a big hug, laughing as he did.

“Ah, you’ve gotten so big!” Benjen laughed as he put Jon down and ruffled his black curls, “You’ll be as big as your father before long.”

“What are you doing here, Uncle?” Jon asked.

“Well, I heard my brooding, big brother helped the king in killing some squids during the rebellion and came back with a few prisoners. I came down from the Wall to see if I could bring some back with me to take the black.” Benjen answered before ruffling Jon’s head again before his nephew laughed and pushed his hand off, “And it gives me an excuse to see my dear nephews and nieces. But I wonder. Why are you out here in the cold and not inside enjoying the feast? I imagine there’s a lot of tasty food to eat and pretty girls to dance with.”

“Eh.” Jon shrugged causing Benjen to laugh again, “I just don’t like crowds.”

“Fair enough. I remember your father being the same way.” he recalled nostalgically, “Knowing him, he’s probably jealous that you’re able to be out here away from everyone and not him! Still though, why don’t you and I head in and grab some food?”

“Hmm, in a bit.” Jon decided, “There’s something about my technique that’s been pissing me off lately and I wanna fix it.”

“Cursing already.” Benjen chuckled as he brought Jon in for another hug, “Aye, you are a Northerner, little pup. Don’t stay out too long. I’ll save you a kidney pie.”

Once Benjen had made his way into his ancestral home, letting the memories of his youth and family fill his mind, he found his grim, elder brother sitting next to his best friend, clearly annoyed that Robert was already drunk. Much to his surprise and happiness, Ned spotted Benjen through the crowd and gave him a grateful smile before Benjen approached the table he once sat at with his parents, brothers and sister as a boy.

“Your Grace.” Benjen politely bowed, “Lord Stark. Lady Stark.”

“Ah, Be-Benjen.” Robert acknowledged, albeit drunkenly, “Down from the Wall, eh?”

“Aye, Your Grace. I understand you have kept several prisoners from the Balon Greyjoy’s army. If I might have a bit of your time, perhaps we could discuss their futures; and, possibly, some affairs the Night’s Watch could use assistance with from the crown?”

“…Why not?!” Robert shouted, tossing his hands in the air and most of his drink. Staggering to get up, the Stag King jolted his head to Barristan, squinting as though he were trying to limit the number of Barristans he was looking at.

“Go get some air! I’m tired of looking at your stoic mug for the night.” Robert spat at the knight once sworn to the dragon prince he killed.

“Your Grace, as your Kingsguard, it is my-”

“Seven Hells!” Robert shouted, “He’s a bloody Ranger of the Night’s Watch! He’s no more allowed to kill me than you are! Get a drink, eat fish, piss on a tree for all I care!”

“…As you command, Your Grace.” the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard relented. Having enough of the drunken warmonger who killed his prince and forced Barristan to serve him instead, the old knight briskly left the great hall and went outside to clear his head.

Once he was outside, he desperately tried to control his anger, hatred and grief. Anger to all seven gods for condemning him to this pitiful duty. Hatred to Robert for killing Rhaegar, the best man Barristan ever knew who would have been the greatest king in the history of Westeros. And grief for the memory of Rhaegar; the prince he failed to save when he needed his friend the most. Every day since the Battle of the Trident, the day his current king caved in Rhaegar’s chest with his war hammer and sent the rubies on his armor flying, Barristan Selmy The Bold could not help but wonder how things could have been different if it was Rhaegar who won, not Robert. Instead of serving a bitter drunk, haunted by the ghost of his enemy, he would be serving a wise, kind and gallant Targaryen king. Standing at his side as they watched the princess grow into a beautiful woman and the prince into a strong, brave man.

“Why did it have to be you, my prince?” Barristan sadly thought, “Why did it have to be you who died while I lived?”

But no answer came. However, the old knight did hear something, aside from the music and laughter coming from inside. Hearing the all too familiar sound of a training dummy being struck, Ser Barristan followed the sound until he found Jon grunting as he trained. Although, it was very clear to the knight the boy was frustrated.

“Seven Hells!” the young bastard cursed.

“Having a bit of trouble?” Barristan kindly asked with a smile.

“Aye.” Jon huffed, blowing a stray curl away from his brow, “I’m doing something wrong, but can’t figure out what. It’s so infuriating!”

“What are you trying to do?” Barristan asked, “Because it seems to me, if you wanted this one dead, there’d be no problem.”

“Ser Rodrick taught me this move I’m using, but I keep showing too much of my back when I do it!” Jon exclaimed.

“Show me.” Barristan said, nodding to the dummy. Nodding his head, Jon took a breath to steady himself and performed his technique for the knight. Sure enough, Jon revealed too much of his back as he finished. Thankfully, Barristan was a man with years of experience and knew just what the boy needed.

“You’re throwing too much of your weight into the strike.” he coached as he gently guided Jon through the proper motion, “You’re trying to make up for your lack of strength by throwing your body weight at the end; probably trying to imitate this Ser Rodrick who taught you. He’s bigger and stronger than you, so he uses that move differently. Not every swordsman is the same, so, you’ll have to make adjustments based on your size, speed, and strength. Try coming in a little lower and strike up, next time. The results should be correct, you won’t expose your back, and you’ll be in a better position to parry the next attack.”

Taking the knight’s advice, Jon attempted the adjustment against the dummy. Just as Barristan explained, Jon’s back was not exposed and he was in the perfect position to perform a parry if need be. Needless to say, the young bastard was ecstatic, and the old knight was happy to see his advice come through for an eager, young swordsman in the making.

“Thank you, Ser.” Jon thanked before realizing the man who helped him was actually a member of the Kingsguard. At that moment, Jon’s happy face immediately turned to fear as he swiftly bowed his head, hoping to be forgiven for his lack of respect. Thankfully, Barristan was humbler than most knights in Kings Landing and quickly assured the boy there was nothing to be sorry about.

“No need to apologize, lad. It’s alright.” he assured with a comforting smile, “I must say, you’re very talented for a boy your age.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Jon nodded, “Um, which of King Robert’s Kingsguard are you, again?”

“I am Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to Robert Baratheon.” he introduced, “And you are?”

“…Jon Snow.” Jon replied expecting the knight to treat him differently because of his name.

“Ah, so you are Lord Stark’s bastard.” Barristan nodded in understanding.

“Aye, my lord.” Jon nodded in shame.

“I bet Lady Stark must hate that you look more Stark than her own children, eh?” Barristan playfully asked.

“…Aye, she does.” Jon replied, looking away as if the woman were glaring down her nose at him at that very moment. It did not take very long for Ser Barristan to realize he had hit a sore topic for the boy.

“She doesn’t want you here, does she?” Barristan asked sympathetically. Although he followed the faith of the seven, he would not support the bias against innocent children; bastards or not.

“A bastard has no place in a noble house.” Jon miserably answered.

“Tell me, young Snow, are you Ned Stark’s son?” Barristan asked.

“Y-Yes?” Jon asked in confusion.

“And were the Starks known as the Kings of Winter in the times of old, before the Targaryens?” he asked.

“Aye, everyone knows that.” Jon replied growing even more confused.

“Then why is someone with such a legendary bloodline concerning himself with what others think?” Barristan gently asked as he took a knee before the boy, “You may think it was the Stark name that made your ancestors great, but it wasn’t. It was their actions, not any one house but theirs. A name is just that; a name. You may be a Snow, but you are no different than anyone else in your family. Not in here.” he said tapping the boy’s chest.

“But everyone else in the world sees bastards as sinful, backstabbing demons!” Jon exclaimed in frustration.

“Not everyone.” Barristan calmly corrected, “I don’t. I have met and befriended plenty of bastards in my long life. I do not care their parents were not married when they were born. It does not change the deeds they did, nor does it change our bonds. All of Dorne even does not care. Nearly all of Essos does not care, from what I am told. Besides, why should you care what other people think? They do not know you. So any insults they say regarding you being a bastard are invalid and ignorant. You know who you are. The people you love know who you are and _they_ know who you are. They should be the only ones you care about how they think of you because you do not want to let them down. Has Lady Stark ever taken the time to know you? Truly know you?”

“No.” Jon said, shaking his head.

“Then anything she says or does to remind you that you are a bastard is meaningless.” Barristan explained, “There have been many bastards throughout the history of Westeros who made names for themselves and live on as legends because they did not let the scrutiny of others stand in their way. Are you going to let that happen?”

“No, my lord.” Jon declared as the knight rose.

“Make sure you don’t.” Barristan urged with a small smile, “With skills like that, should you keep training, your legend may become even greater than Ser Arthur Dayne’s.”

After the knight left, Jon picked up his sword and twirled it in his hand with an excited grin at the thought. A northern bastard becoming an even greater legend than the Sword of the Morning. Feeling good enough with his technique, Jon put away his sword, washed his face and went inside to join the feast. However, when he entered the hall, looking past the crowd to see his father and siblings, the Bastard of Winterfell saw something that sent a cold stab to his heart, practically killing all the words of encouragement Ser Barristan had given him earlier. Sitting at the table of Jon’s ancestors, next his brother and laughing with him as they talked, was Theon Greyjoy.

“Ah, Snow! You finally decided to join us.” one of the Stark bannermen drunkenly cheered with his mug aloft at the table to Jon’s right.

“Finally get enough air out there?” another teased in good faith while Jon kept staring at the Iron Born hostage.

“Why is the Greyjoy sitting up there with Robb?” Jon finally asked. That little question sobered the men who heard it, even just a little.

“Oh, well, see, lad,” the first man struggled, “The Greyjoy brat may be a hostage now, but he’s still a highborn. So, he has more of a right to sit with your brother than you do since…since you’re a bastard.”

“But he’s not a Stark!” Jon nearly shouted.

“Aye, but neither are you, lad.” the man reminded.

“Ah, enough of that!” the other man said hoping to change the subject for the boy, “Come, join us! When you’re tucked back this far, you can drink all the ale you want and not get caught by Lord Stark.”

“No thank you.” Jon quietly denied, “My uncle Benjen said he’d save a kidney pie for me. I wanna eat it with him.”

“Alright, lad. If that’s what you want.”

“You’ll have to wait, though. Your uncle’s off trying to convince the king to help out the Night’s Watch. Maybe you can get your brother down from there and come eat with you while you wait.”

It was not a bad idea, so Jon shrugged his shoulders and made his way past the eating, drinking and laughing lords and knights until he got close enough for Robb to see him. Having enough experience with Jon, Robb knew his half-brother needed somebody to cheer him up. So, without so much as a word to his parents, Robb pushed out his seat and hurried over to his brother and best friend with Theon at his tail.

“Did you figure out how to fix it?” Robb asked in regards to Rodrick’s move.

“Aye, I did.” Jon nodded as Theon came over to them, “Ser Barristan himself helped me figure out how.”

“Really?!” Robb exclaimed in excitement.

“Barristan the Bold?” Theon sneered with a slight slur. It had been obvious to Jon the hostage had been drinking more than he should have had. “The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard helped _you_? You’re a bastard. Why would he help you?”

“Hey.” Robb admonished.

“Maybe because got so tired of watching pirates fight like idiots he didn’t want to see another person grow and fight and lose as badly as your father’s bannermen did.” Jon shot back.

“Alright!” Robb said, literally stepping between the two boys before a fight began. At that moment, Jon felt a small hand tug on his sleeve. Turning around, Jon saw his sister Sansa holding his harp with a shy look on her face.

“Jon?” she cutely asked, not at all realizing she just stopped a fight.

“Sansa, what are you doing with my harp?” Jon gently asked as he composed himself.

“I don’t like the music they’re playing.” she said before offering his instrument in her stretched arms, “Yours is better. Will you play something for me?”

Jon was about to accept his sister’s request, however, Theon decided he was not done trying to make the Bastard of Winterfell as miserable as he was.

“Give it here!” he barked as he shoved Jon away and took the harp, “I’ll show you what a real song is! A real Iron Born shanty, that’s what.”

Even if Theon had not been drunk at the time, everyone would later agree, as the years went on, that even sober, the Greyjoy heir would have sounded just as terrible as he did that night as he sang badly and plucked the harp’s strings too hard. The three children, and most of the people near them, covered their ears and winced at the terrible sounds Theon was making.

“Someone shut that squid up!” one of the lords shouted.

“He sings as bad as his brothers fought!” another bellowed causing some of the men to laugh. That was the wrong thing to do.

“Give me back my harp, Greyjoy!” Jon demanded while Sansa kept her ears covered, just to be safe.

“That was awful!” Sansa cried.

“It’s not my fault!” Theon shouted at them in anger as he clenched the harp tightly in his fist, “It’s the stupid harp. It’s broken!”

In his drunken fit, Theon did something that made Jon feel as though the world was moving much slower than it normally did. As soon as Theon claimed the harp was broken, he threw it with all his might on the ground and smashed it completely beyond repair; and made sure it stayed that way as he stomped on it to break it even more. By this time, all the men in the hall, including the musicians, had stopped talking and laughing and turned their attention to the children in the back corner.

Robb looked completely appalled at what his new friend had done and Sansa looked confused and scared at the outburst. Jon, on the other hand, looked down at his most prized possession in shock. He would have retaliated against Theon had it not been for what happened next.

“Oh, did that upset you, _bastard?_ ” Theon sneered before grabbing a plate of lemon cake, “Here. Maybe this’ll make you feel better!”

As most of the onlookers expected, Theon slammed the plate on Jon’s head and smeared it down to his face. If anyone had been stupid enough, or drunk enough, or both to say it, they would have said Jon looked half Lannister with all the yellow cake and icing in his hair.

Having enough of seeing his son bullied, Ned rose to his feet in anger and stormed over to his children and ward; completely ignoring Catelyn’s attempt to stop him. Sansa was in tears at how her brother was being treated and Robb looked as though he was about to punch Theon by the time Ned stormed over and grabbed his ward tightly by the arm. He may not have been the boy’s father, but he would still discipline him as if he were his own. Saying no words, Ned harshly pulled Theon out of the hall to his chambers to be punished. After they left, Robb looked to his brother in concern.

“Jon?” he gently asked. The young bastard had said and did nothing in those moments. All he did was shake in anger as he tried to control himself and not beat the Greyjoy brat into the floor. Having enough of everyone staring at him, Jon sprinted to the exit across the hall leaving bits of cake on the floor behind him. Although he did not realize, not daring to look around, the poor boy ran past his uncle who soon followed him.

Even though Jon did not have his harp, he still went straight to the Godswood. He struggled not to cry the entire time he ran and did so until he came to the base of the Weirwood tree and the black water pool before it. Thanks to the full moon out that night, Jon could clearly see his reflection in the dark water. He could see all the Stark features his siblings did not possess and all the cake in his hair. In his anger and resentment, Jon smacked away his reflection, splashing the ground with the water. But, sure enough, his reflection returned and so he splashed it away again several more times. Finally, he saw someone else’s reflection instead of his own.

“Jon.” Benjen gently spoke with sympathy, “What are you doing?”

“People treat me different!” Jon spat as Benjen took a knee and dipped the end of his cloak in the water.

“Probably because you’re covered in cake.” he lightly chuckled hoping to defuse the tension as he ran the cloak through his nephew’s hair to wash out the cake.

“No!” Jon shouted, “They all treat me like dirt! Lady Catelyn-”

“Close your mouth.” Benjen gently said before wiping the boy’s face.

“Lady Catelyn says I don’t belong here!” Jon finished.

“Never mind what Lady Catelyn says.” Benjen gently told as his nephew tried to wriggle away, “Hold still, lad.”

“Look at me!” Jon shouted after breaking free as if to show his uncle whatever physical trait everyone saw that made him a bastard; not that he could ever see it.

“…I am, Jon.” Benjen said with sincerity before going back to cleaning the boy up, “And I see every Stark feature imaginable when I look at you. I see the same eyes I have, you father has, your Uncle Brandon had, your grandfather had…your aunt Lyanna had. But most of all, I see my dear, kind, and beloved nephew whom I love very much and look forward to seeing every time I come down from Castle Black. I see a boy who is nothing like what those damn southerners believe all bastards are. I see a boy who wants nothing more than to be acknowledged for the man he is becoming and not some bastard name he was forced to bear.”

“But why does everyone else treat me like that?” Jon miserably asked.

“Everyone?” Benjen asked, “I know for a fact that your father doesn’t, and neither do your siblings. I also know that many of the people here in Winterfell don’t either because they have watched you grow since you were an even smaller pup than you are now.”

“I’m not a pup!” Jon cried as tears fell down his red cheeks and shoved Benjen’s hand off his head, “I’m not a Stark! I’m a Snow! I can’t be a Direwolf!”

“Oh, Jon.” Benjen sighed, “Jon, Jon, Jon. There is so much more to being a true Stark than just having the name. You’re more Stark than that fish-wife Tully woman, that’s for damn sure. And damn her gods for putting those lies in her head about you.”

“Why does she hate me so much?” Jon asked through his sniffles, “I didn’t ask to be born this way. I don’t want to be a bastard!”

“I know, pup.” Benjen sadly whispered as he finally brought Jon for a much needed hug, “I don’t want you to be one, either.”

“It’s not fair.” Jon whimpered, “She gets the Stark name just because she married Father and-and Theon gets to sit up there with Robb and Father only because he’s a highborn. It’s not right!”

“No, it’s not.” Benjen agreed, “I’ve been around more Starks than anyone besides your father, and I know there is none more deserving to sit at the same table the Kings of Winter once sat at than you.”

Normally, Benjen would offer someone with a similar experience to Jon’s a place in the Night’s Watch where all would be welcome. However, Benjen knew fully well that Jon was afraid of the Night’s Watch and had absolutely no intention of ever voluntarily joining as he did. Still, there was one thing he could do to lift the boy’s spirits.

“I have something for you, if you want it.” he said as they broke apart.

“What?” Jon asked as he snorted back his snot.

“I was going to have your father hold onto it until your nameday, but after the day you’ve had, and what that Theon brat did, I think now is better.” Benjen said as he rummaged through his leather, travel knapsack.

As he pulled out the gift, Jon gasped in wonder at what his uncle revealed. It was a harp, one unlike any he ever seen or dreamed. It was made from Weirwood branches in a curved, U-shape with red, Weirwood leaves still connected to the top sides; one of the left, two on the right.

“They say when a branch or leaf falls from the great Weirwood trees, they are gifts from our gods. It takes a lot to break off a leaf or branch from these trees, nearly impossible. I have been collecting whatever I can find since I was a boy here in Winterfell. And since joining the Night’s Watch, I have also collected what has fallen from the Weirwood tree beyond the Wall. When the First Men, our ancestors, first came to this land, the Children of the Forest made bows and arrows from their many Weirwood trees, hoping the gods would be with them as they fought. We may have taken their land, but we have also taken on their faith and follow the old ways of the First Men. It is in the hearts of all _true_ Northerners. This harp is made from the branches of both those trees. When you play this harp, Jon Snow, you will be playing the Heart of the North.”

“…Thank you, Uncle Benjen.” Jon softly said as he held his gift with tears of joy in his eyes. Gently setting the harp against the tree, Jon gave his uncle the strongest hug he could muster.

“You’re very welcome, nephew.” Benjen smiled as he hugged Jon back and kissed his head.

“Can-can I…” Jon trailed shyly as he looked back and forth between his harp and uncle.

“It’s yours. Go ahead.” Benjen chuckled.

“Um…” Jon trailed again. As much as he enjoyed playing, he preferred to do it when he was alone.

“Oh, I see.” Benjen nodded in understanding, “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

Looking around to see if he was truly alone, Jon took a deep breath, thought of the song he wanted to sing, leaned against the Weirwood, looked up at the full moon and began to strum his harp and sing a song dedicated to an old Essosi prophecy he heard from the minstrel who gave him his first harp.

“They sang of leaves, of leaves of old, and leaves there grew

Of wind they sang, a wind there came and in them blew

Azor Ahai~!

In light they wove a secret land of timeless joy

The perfect child no mortal hand could dare destroy

Azor Ahai~!

Beyond the sun

Beyond the moon

Wonder

Wonder~!

Shine forever

Beacon of light

Blaze in the air

Vanquishing night

Live forever

Held like a breath

Deep at the core

Blossom in death~”

As Jon sang, Ned had come out to the balcony overseeing the Godswood after disciplining Theon. Once he did, he could see his son and listen to his beautiful singing voice. It broke his heart to see his pup be treated so poorly because of his birth. But he knew what would happen if he confessed the truth.

“ _Promise me, Ned._ ” the haunting voice rang in his head again, “ _You have to protect him. Promise me._ ”

“Have I kept my promise?” Ned thought to himself while also asking the gods he worshiped. As he did, Jon continued to sing.

“The Weirwood trees will fade and fall through branching years

Though sweet the song yet sweeter still shall be the tears

The night must come, the shadows grow, the dark descend

And all we love and all we know must reach an end

Azor Ahai~!

Though worlds will die and worlds will grow!

Out of death, life

Out of night, day

Glory from sorrow

Out of grief, joy

Out of storm, comes

Strength for tomorrow

Out of dust, gold

Out of fire, air

Comfort forsaken

Out of rage, calm

Out of loss, find

Glory awaken~”

As Jon continued to strum the tune for this song, he began to hum the melody before loudly singing vocally with grace. As he did, Ser Barristan, who was still unwanted by his king, was walking past the entrance to the Godswood and saw Jon through the arch. At that moment, when the boy loudly sang, the old knight’s breath was taken away. Instead of Jon, the old man saw the ghost of his Dragon Prince Rhaegar singing in the streets of Kings Landing. It also didn’t help that Jon was singing an old favorite of the late Targaryen. Tears fell from Barristan as he fell to his knees in shock as he continued to listen to the song.

“It can’t be.” he sadly thought as he shook his head, “It just can’t.”

“Shine forever

Beacon of light!

Blaze in the air

Vanquishing night!

Sing forever

Proud and strong

Anthem of life

Conquering song!

Though tides of fate

Onward run

The song of hope

Once begun

Will evermore

Remain~”

Once the golden-voiced bastard finished, he let loose the tension left within him from the rotten day. By releasing this tension, he finally, completely took in the words given to him by his father, uncle and Ser Barristan. It was at that moment, Jon Snow made a decision that would shape the rest of his life and all the struggles he would face.

“I’ll prove them all wrong.” he whispered to Weirwood’s face before looking to the moon, “I’ll show them all that I’m more than just a bastard. This I swear.”


	2. Winter is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything from GoT. Enjoy!

Ten years following the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, during the longest summer in the history of Westeros, peace had settle throughout the seven kingdoms. During that time, House Stark had welcomed two more sons of Eddard and Catelyn; Brandon, named for his late uncle and ancestors, and Rickon in honor of his late grandfather. As he had done with his sisters, Jon had dedicated himself to being a loving elder brother to his new siblings. With Robb helping him, the two brothers made sure to teach and train Bran and Rickon to follow their father’s teachings and the way of the North.

Unfortunately, only Robb was praised for this by the people of Winterfell. Even as time passed, Jon was still viewed as a vile bastard by Catelyn, who had earned more respect and authority with her husband’s followers. Thanks to his Uncle Benjen and Barristan Selmy’s words, her glares did not bother him as much as they used to. However, there would always be a small part of him inside that wished things could be different; especially since his sister Sansa had begun to treat him more and more like her mother did. Thankfully, his youngest sister Arya was the exact opposite.

Never wanting to abide by the ways of being a lady, particularly a southern type based on her septa’s teachings, Arya Stark always felt like an outcast in Winterfell. She knew her parents and brothers loved her, especially Jon, but Sansa always made a point to tease and mock her for never being as good at “lady things” as she was and desiring to partake in what her brothers were being trained to do. Especially when, for a little over a year, Sansa and her friends called the girl “Arya Horse-Face” on account of Arya resembling more of her Stark heritage than Sansa did with their Tully heritage.

Not wanting to see his littlest sister sad, Jon was often a source of comfort for Arya and taught her ways to get back at Sansa and her gaggle of friends. It did not take very long, but Arya became a mischievous tomboy who enjoyed pranking and annoying her sister; something that made Catelyn resent Jon even more.

Aside from that, every day in Winterfell was calm and peaceful, exactly what the lord and lady of the castle wanted for their children. On one particular day, a day that would hold the first sparks that would forever change the world, the sons of Ned Stark were outside at the archery range where Bran was practicing.

At the age of ten, Bran was about as good as most beginners; not very. So, Jon and Robb stood next to him and calmly advised him after each failed shot. Off to the side, sitting on bales of hay, was the ever innocent, little Rickon. After the next arrow flew and missed, Jon spoke up.

“Go on.” Jon said to Bran, “Father’s watching; and your mother.”

After firing another arrow, all the Starks watched as it flew over the wall and into the trees. While Bran groaned in frustration, his three brothers laughed at their brother’s greatest miss.

“And which one of you were a marksman at ten?” Ned asked his eldest son and bastard from the level above them with his wife, “Keep practicing, Bran. Go on.”

With the encouragement from his father, Bran drew another arrow and notched it. Believing that the next arrow would hit the bullseye, Bran listened to Jon and Robb’s advice as he readied himself. Before Bran could let loose his arrow, another flew past him and hit the bullseye. As he and all his brothers turned their heads to see the archer, they saw Arya smiling triumphantly at her little brother and gave him a little bow. This, of course, resulted in Bran chasing after his sister for upstaging him so easily at something he had been at all day. While Robb, Jon and Rickon laughed at the sight while their father and his wife laughed fondly from above. Unfortunately, their attention was diverted by Ser Rodrick.

“Lord Stark, my lady.” the heavyset man bowed, “A guardsman just rode in from the hills. They’ve captured a deserter from the Night’s Watch.”

“Get the lads to saddle their horses.” Ned said to Theon who nodded before taking his leave.

“Do you have to?” Catelyn asked.

“He swore an oath, Cat.” Ned replied.

“The law is the law, my lady.”

“Tell Bran he’s coming, too.” Ned ordered.

“Ned, ten is too young to see such things.” Catelyn argued for the sake of her son’s innocence.

“He won’t be a boy forever; and winter is coming.” Ned coldly reminded using the words of his house. Not to be cruel, but to remind his wife of the inescapable truth she already had to accept with her first son. 

Once Ned left to ready his horse, Catelyn looked down below to see Jon ruffle Rickon’s hair after the five-year-old retrieved the arrows for him. Feeling the ever familiar feeling of the woman’s glare, Jon looked up to see her glaring daggers at him past her nose. He said nothing, but he matched her stare with his own before walking away. After riding out to the place where the Starks preformed executions, the Stark bannermen dragged the muttering deserter to their lord and his sons.

“The White Walkers. I saw the White Walkers. I saw them.” the man rambled until he was facing Eddard Stark. Accepting what was to come, the man steeled himself before he spoke.

“I know I broke my oath and I know I’m a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but…I saw what I saw. I saw White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I’m no coward. Tell them I’m sorry.”

Seeing that the man before him had made his peace, and was not begging for forgiveness like a coward, Ned decided to honor the dying man’s request. But so not to show weakness, he said nothing and nodded to his men to position the man to the grove of the execution log. After drawing his mighty Valyrian steel sword, Ice, Ned began to recite his authority in a cool voice.

“Don’t look away.” Jon whispered in Bran’s ear, “Father will know if you do.”

“In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, king of the Andals and the First Men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm, I, Eddard, of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North sentence you to die.”

With no hesitation, Ned swung his massive sword and cleaved the man’s head off from his body.

“You did well.” Jon softly praised, feeling sorry that a part of his little brother’s innocence was cleaved away like the man’s head. While the body was taken to the cart, Ned went over to Bran as he readied his horse.

“Do you understand why I did it?” he asked.

“Jon said he was a deserter.” Bran somberly answered.

“But do you understand why _I_ had to kill him?” Ned asked.

“Our way is the old way?” Bran asked.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” Ned clarified.

“Is it true he saw the White Walkers?”

“The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years, son.” Ned reminded.

“So, he was lying?” Bran asked.

“A mad man sees what he sees. We must be prepared for the threats we know for sure are out there. Remember our words; Winter is Coming.”

“Winter is Coming.” Bran repeated as they all got on their horses. Along the way back to Winterfell, a foul sight was found in the middle of the road; a dead stag with a broken rack laid dead with its tongue and guts spilled out for all to see.

“Dismount!” Ned ordered his sons, ward and bannermen. Taking a closer look at the stag, the northern men pondered what could have mauled such a large deer with an even bigger set of antlers.

“Mountain lion?” Theon asked.

“There are no mountain lions in these woods.” Ned informed nodded and drew his sword with the others following suit. Following the trail of blood, Ned led them all to the corpse of the creature that killed the stag. It was a wolf the size of a horse with a broken antler impaling its neck. But that was not the only thing that caught everyone’s attention. No, it was the five pups squeaking about their mother’s cold stomach as they drained the last of her milk.

“It’s a freak!” Theon exclaimed at the size of the wolf.

“It’s a direwolf.” Ned corrected, no less shocked at the sight of the animal of his house before removing the antler from its neck, “Tough old beast.”

“There are no direwolves south of the wall.” Robb reminded his father.

“Now there are five.” Jon corrected as he picked one up and gave it to Bran, “You want to hold it?”

“Where will they go?” Bran asked as the pup squirmed in his arms, “Their mother’s dead.”

“They don’t belong down here.” Ser Rodrick said.

“Better a quick death. They won’t last long without their mother.” Ned sighed as Theon unsheathed his dagger.

“Right. Give it here.” he said, taking the wolf from the boy.

“No!” Bran cried.

“Put away your blade!” Robb hissed, angry because his brother was upset.

“I take orders from your father, not you.” Theon shot back.

“Please, Father!” Bran pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Bran.” Ned denied.

“Lord Stark,” Jon interjected, unable to call him Father in the presence of his bannermen, “There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them.”

With all eyes looking at him in anticipation, Ned Stark relented and gave a deep sigh. “You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves, and if they die you will bury them yourselves.”

As Ned and his men went back to the horses, Theon and Robb picked up the pups in each arm while Bran looked at Jon who looked saddened. “What about you?” he asked out of concern for his brother’s feelings.

“I’m not a Stark.” Jon reminded as the truth once again stung his heart.

“You are as much a Stark as we are, Jon.” Robb thought as he looked to his brother and best friend.

But the Bastard of Winterfell said nothing. He simply followed the others up the hill before suddenly stopping at the sound of more squeaking. Looking down near his foot, Jon saw a direwolf pup as white as his namesake with eyes as red as blood.

“Ah, the runt of the litter.” Theon joked, “That one’s yours, Snow.”

Despite the jest meaning to be an insult, Jon stared at the little albino in wonder before looking to Robb. Not needing to say a word, Robb smiled and nodded to his brother as if saying, “See? You are a wolf just as we are.”

Once the others were up the hill, Jon smiled lovingly to the pup and held it against his chest. As if to prove the pup accepted Jon as well, it snuggled up against the furs of his cloak.

“Hello there.” Jon whispered as he gently patted the runt’s head, “You won’t have to worry about being cast aside, anymore. You’ve got me, now.”

After another long ride home, Lord Stark, his sons and men finally returned through the gates of Winterfell. Once they arrived, Robb and Jon decided to surprise their other siblings with the pups. So, after telling them to come meet them in Robb’s room, the two brothers waited for them outside as they stood before the door. Being the most impatient, Sansa spoke first.

“Well, what is it that you wanted to show us?” she bluntly asked.

“Is it the deserter’s head?” Arya asked with a grin.

“No.” Robb snickered.

“You brought back the head?!” Rickon exclaimed as he clutched his own head.

“No, Rickon.” Jon sighed with a smirk.

“I bet it’s all bloody and covered with flies.” Arya teased while Sansa rolled her eyes.

“Arya.” she groaned.

“Ew!” Rickon said in disgust.

“With the expression he had when Father cut his head off, too!” Arya added.

“Enough!” Jon interrupted with a small smile, “It’s not the damn head. It’s some things we found on the way back.”

Opening the door, Robb let them in and chuckled once he heard their surprised gasps. Rolling around on the floor, while Bran was holding his pup, the other five cocked their heads at the three strangers staring at them.

“Puppies!” Rickon shouted in joy.

“You found wolf pups?” Arya asked as she and Rickon got on the floor to get closer to them.

“No,” Robb said, “We found _Direwolf_ pups.”

“I thought they only lived beyond the Wall?” Sansa asked.

“Normally, yes. That is the case. But somehow, their mother got south and gave birth to them before she and a stag killed each other.” Robb explained.

“And we can keep them?” Rickon asked as he held the black pup.

“Aye, there’s one for each of us.” Robb smiled.

“Even you?” Arya asked Jon with concern. Smiling in thanks, Jon pointed towards the albino runt.

“See that one? He’s mine.” Jon said as he sat down with his siblings and held his new friend, “His name’s Ghost.”

“Because he’s white?” Rickon cutely asked.

“Not exactly.” Jon laughed, “He was quiet the whole ride back and barely made a sound as he walked around. So, I named him Ghost because he’s as quiet as a creeping ghost; and also because he’s white.”

“And Father said we can keep them?” Sansa asked wanting to make sure it was true.

“Aye, and you should thank Jon for it, too.” Robb nodded.

“Robb.” Jon interjected trying to be humble.

“Why?” Sansa asked.

“If Jon hadn’t convinced Father that the Stark children should have Direwolves of their own, like before the Targaryens came, he would have had Theon kill them to spare them dying without their mother.” Robb praised. Before Jon could say anything, he was tackled, after putting Ghost down, by Arya and Rickon who hugged him in thanks; even Sansa shot him a small, thankful smile.

“So, we can pick which ever one we want?” Arya asked.

“Out of these three.” Robb said as he gathered the three unclaimed pups and picked up the gray, male pup, “This one is mine. I’m calling him Grey Wind.”

“This one’s name is Summer and he’s mine.” Bran said firmly as he held his pup on the bed.

“So, these two are girls,” Jon said as he pointed to the white-auburn pup and the white-gray pup, “And that one is a boy, Rickon.”

“Mine!” he said holding the black pup.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” Jon joked, “Looks like you two get to pick.”

“I want this one.” Sansa said as she grabbed the auburn-white wolf.

“Fine, I wanted this one, anyway.” Arya bluntly said as she picked up her pup.

“Now they just need names.” Jon said.

“Nymeria.” Arya said as she cradled her sleeping pup, “Mine’s name is Nymeria.”

“After the Rhoynar queen?” Jon asked knowing how much his sister was enamored by the warrior princesses of old.

“You shouldn’t name it after such a savage woman, Arya.” Sansa scolded, “Honestly, I will never understand why you look up to women like or the Targaryen princesses and queens. After what they did to our family? You should not look up to such barbaric women.”

“If that’s what she wants to name her wolf, Sansa, then that’s what she wants to name her wolf.” Jon lectured, “Besides, not all Targaryens are guilty of the crimes the Mad King committed.”

“Well, _my_ Direwolf won’t be some savage beast like hers will with a name like that. Mine will be gentle and fair, just as I am.” Sansa said raising her nose at her half-brother, “That’s why I’m naming her Lady.”

“Big surprise there.” Arya scoffed, earning a glare from the red-head.

“What are you gonna name yours, Rickon?” Robb asked before another argument broke out.

“Shaggydog!” Rickon cheered happily as his pup licked his face.

“They’re not dogs, Rickon!” Bran snapped in annoyance.

“That’s a stupid name for a Direwolf.” Arya remarked causing Rickon to look at them with watery eyes.

“But I want him to be Shaggydog!” Rickon nearly wailed before Jon came over and gently patted his head, as he always did to show his youngest brother affection.

“I think it’s a good name.” he said kindly before the youngest Stark looked up to him and sniffled.

“Really?” he asked with a hopeful smile.

“Aye, I mean, he’s got shaggy hair just like you. It’s a perfect name.” Jon nodded as he continued to ruffle and roll the boy’s head as he laughed.

“But, Jon!” Arya complained.

“It’s not a dog!” Bran added.

“Is your wolf the season of summer, itself?” he asked Bran in a tone similar to their father’s. Bran said nothing as he bashfully looked at the bed.

“And is yours the warrior queen reborn again?” he asked Arya who did the same, “No? Well, then, it looks like neither of you have much room to criticize. Now, you all need to understand something important. Bran and Arya are right; these are not dogs. Nor are they pets. These are Direwolves. They’ll grow as big as horses before long and be just as fast. Their bites will be strong enough to break bones with a single chomp and tear through armor like parchment. Father has made it very clear; we are to train, feed, clean and control these wolves ourselves. Treat them right and love them, and they will be your protectors. They will defend and obey you because you are their packs now. We are responsible for them, now. Do you understand?”

All the young Starks nodded their heads as they held their wolves. While the children were getting acquainted with their new, furry companions, Catelyn had informed Ned about the death of his foster-father, Jon Arryn, and that King Robert was riding north with his queen, Cersei Lannister, her brothers Jamie and Tyrion, the princes Joffrey and Tommen, and the princess Myrcella with all the Kingsguard and bannermen of the royal family stationed to escort them north. Given the size of the number of people coming, and that the queen and her children were in a wheel-house the entire way, it took an entire month for Robert to arrive. 

The morning of the arrival, hours before the royal family arrived, Jon, Robb and Theon were told to have their beards shaved and their hair cut in order to look proper before the crown.

“Why’s your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the king?” Jon asked Robb as he was getting a shave.

“It’s for the queen, I bet.” Theon mused, “I hear she’s a sleek bit of meat.”

“I hear Prince Joffrey is a right, royal prick.” Robb added.

“Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his right, royal prick.” Theon joked as Jon took Robb’s spot.

“Go on, Tommy. Shear him good.” Robb smirked, “He’s never met a girl he liked better than his own hair.”

While Robb and Theon laughed, in good nature, as Jon grimaced his hair being cut, an unsavory thought popped into his head.

“He’s around Sansa’s age, isn’t he? The Crown Prince?” Jon asked.

“Aye, that’s what I heard.” Theon nodded, “Maybe a year or two older. They say he and the other two look more Lannister than Baratheon.”

“Why do you ask?” Robb asked.

“Sansa’s always been dreaming of the day a prince will come here and marry her. Last thing she needs if for that prince to be some golden-haired, half-Lannister prick.” Jon answered. Despite how much Sansa tried to act like Catelyn, she was still his sister and he wanted to make sure nothing bad happened to her.

“You’ll have to act as Lord of Winterfell if Father accepts the king’s offer, you know.” Jon reminded his brother.

“Aye, and you’ll be at my side helping me from fucking everything up.” Robb nodded with a smirk.

“You’d think the king would know better than to ask Father to ride south with him and stay in Kings Landing of all places.” Jon added as the snipped curls fell off his head, “You Starks don’t fare well in the south.”

“Different time, different king.” Robb nodded, “That’ll probably be his excuse. Still doesn’t change that’s the city where his father and brother were murdered.”

“He might say no.” Theon offered, “Lord Stark’s always seemed to be set in his ways. He might refuse.”

“He’d have to take the others and your mother down with him.” Jon reminded, “Or finally find places to send Bran and Rickon to be fostered. I doubt it would be the Vale, though. Isn’t your cousin about Bran’s age?”

“A little younger, actually.” Robb shrugged, “Last time I saw him was when my aunt and uncle brought him here for Mother and Father to see as a baby. Heard he’s sickly and frail now.”

“And he’s going to be Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East.” Jon smirked as he was being shaved.

After everyone and everything was ready, they all gathered in the courtyard, ready to kneel before their king. As they all waited, Jon noticed Arya trotting over to her spot with a Stark soldier helm on her head. While Catelyn was aghast at this, Ned smirked as he pulled the helm off his daughter’s head and passed it back to Rodrick. At that moment Prince Joffrey rode in with his personal guard Ser Sandor Clegane, The Hound, behind wearing his snarling hound helm. No one, especially Robb and Jon, missed the arrogant smirk on Joffrey’s face as he looked at Sansa who smirked back at him.

Following the prince was the large wheel-house that carried the queen and her other two children. Behind this, led by two more Kingsguard, came in Robert. Although, he looked much different than the last time he came to Winterfell. Instead of the strong warrior-king he was known to be during his own rebellion, Robert Baratheon had become the fattest king to have ever sat on the Iron Throne.

“That’s the Demon of the Trident?” Jon bluntly asked in disbelief, “He’s fatter than Ser Rodrick.”

Although, in Ser Rodrick’s defense, he’s more solidly built and still physically fit, in his own way. Robert, on the other hand, just appeared to be a glutton. Still, that glutton was the king of Westeros, and so, everyone kneeled and bowed their heads; which spared them from seeing the man need a stepstool in order to get down from his horse. Stomping over, the red-faced, scowling king stopped directly in front of his best friend and discreetly gestured for him to stand. Once he did, everyone else was allowed to stand, as well.

“Your Grace.” Ned bowed with respect.

“…You got fat.” Robert bluntly spat through his wild, bushy beard. In response, Ned nodded his head to Robert’s enormous stomach. Breaking the tension, the two old friends then burst into laughter, dropping all formalities required of their titles and fiercely hugged.

“Cat!” Robert happily greeted as he hugged the woman he had grown to see and love as a sister.

“Your Grace.” Catelyn greeted with a smile before Robert kindly ruffled Rickon’s hair, as if he were the boy’s uncle.

“Nine years.” Robert exhaled to Ned, “Why haven’t I seen you? Where the hell have you been?”

“Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours.” Ned replied as Queen Cersei exited the wheel-house. She was a beautiful woman, with her golden hair and supple body, dressed in her royal red and gold gown.

“Where’s the imp?” Arya asked, not even bothering to be discrete.

“Will you shut up?!” Sansa snapped, hotly for some reason.

“What have we here?” Robert kindly joked as he came to inspect his friends’ children, “You must be Robb. My have you grown.”

“Your Grace.” Robb greeted as they firmly shook hands.

“Sansa.” Robert smiled as she curtsied, “You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman, just like your mother.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Sansa thanked, darting her eyes back to Joffrey.

“And you are?” Robert asked with a teasing tone.

“Arya.” Arya proudly stated causing the king to chuckle at her declaration before looking at Bran.

“Show us your muscles, lad.” Robert nodded before fondly chuckling as Bran flexed his arm, “You’ll make a fine soldier.”

Looking behind the younger children, Robert’s mouth dropped in shock when he looked at Jon. Because of Catelyn’s order, Jon had not met the king after the Greyjoy Rebellion, so this was the first time Robert had ever laid eyes on the bastard.

“Seven Hells!” Robert let out, gaining Ned’s attention.

“Please don’t.” Ned begged in his mind as he looked at his friend and son, “Just stay ignorant, you fat fool.”

“Ned!” Robert bellowed before grinning from ear to ear and pointing at Jon, “He looks just like you did at the Eyrie!”

Careful not to show his relief, Ned simply smiled and nodded, while Catelyn did her best not to showed her annoyed expression at Jon’s existence being acknowledged. 

“I didn’t get the chance to meet you last time.” Robert stated.

“My apologies, Your Grace. I did not believe it was proper for a bastard to be in the presence of the king.” Jon replied, slightly lying that it was his decision.

“Bah! Hell with that.” Robert waved off, “I’ve got a bastard of my own back in the Vale, somewhere; probably more throughout the other six kingdoms, too!”

Jon said nothing as the king laughed in his face, but he did give a small, awkward smile.

“You were named after a good man, lad. The best man I ever knew.” Robert informed seriously, “I hope you know that.”

“I shall try to be worthy of Lord Arryn’s name, Your Grace.” Jon said with a bow.

It was then that Cersei decided to approach the lord and lady of Winterfell, not even bothering to hide her bored and contempt expression.

“My queen.” Ned greeted before kissing her hand.

“My queen.” Catelyn curtsied as one of the Kingsguard removed his helm and shook free his golden hair.

“That’s Jamie Lannister; the queen’s twin brother.” Arya pointed out.

“Will you please shut up?!” Sansa harshly spat.

“Take me to your crypts. I want to pay my respects.” Robert gruffly said to Ned.

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait?” Cersei asked, lacking emotion to someone she claimed to love.

“Ned.” Robert said, ignoring his wife and heading to the Stark family crypts.

“Where’s the imp?” Arya asked again.

“Where is our brother?” Cersei asked Jamie in annoyance, “Go and find the little monster.”

After Jamie left, and Ned followed Robert down into the crypts, the crowd began to disperse and the servants returned to their duties. As they did, the Stark children greeted the rest of the royal family.

Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella finally emerged from the wheel-house, slightly shivering from the cold of the north. Myrcella appeared to be a year or two older than Arya while Tommen was about a year younger than Bran. From what Jon could tell, the princess was a kind, little lady in the making; something Sansa thought she was on a daily basis. Tommen, on the other hand, reminded him of Rickon whenever he acted timid. It was obvious to Jon that Myrcella was attracted to Robb on account of how much she was blushing and staring at him. As he was resisting the urge to chuckle at his brother, Jon heard a familiar voice from behind.

“It’s good to see you were allowed to join your family this time around, young Snow.” Ser Barristan said with a welcoming smile.

“Ser Barristan.” Jon kindly smiled as they clasped arms.

“It’s good to see you again.” Barristan said, “Looks like you’ve grown into quite the swordsman. Working hard to forge your legend?”

“Every day, Ser.” Jon nodded.

“That so? Perhaps you could demonstrate your skills tomorrow. Help this old man work off a month of riding.” Barristan offered.

“It would be an honor, Ser.” Jon said with a bow of his head. Down in the crypts, Ned led Robert to the specific grave he desired to visit. As they did, they strode past all the stone statues of all the previous Wardens of the North and the Kings of Winter who came before them. However, Ned’s curiosity finally voiced itself as they walked.

“Tell me about Jon Arryn.” he said getting straight to the point.

“One minute he was fine and then it burned right through him, whatever it was.” Robert sadly replied, “I loved that man.”

“We both did.” Ned sadly reminded.

“He never had to teach you much, but me?” Robert asked as they smiled at the memories of their foster-father, “You remember me at sixteen? All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls. He showed me what was what.”

“Aye?” Ned asked with a smirk.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not his fault I didn’t listen.” Robert laughed as they came to a stop, “I need you, Ned. Down at Kings Landing, not up here where your no use to anybody. Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you Hand of the King.”

“I’m not worthy of the honor.” Ned said as he took a knee.

“I’m not trying to honor you.” Robert corrected his friend, “I’m trying to get you to run my kingdoms while I drink and whore my way to an early grave. Dammit, Ned, stand up. You helped me win the Iron Throne. Now help me keep the damn thing. We were meant to rule, together. If your sister had lived, we would’ve been bound by blood. Well, it’s not too late. I have a son; you have a daughter. We’ll join our houses.”

Ned looked unsupportive of this idea, but Robert had already continued on his way by the time Ned could say anything in protest. Just as he was about to, he saw Robert stand before the grave he wanted to see; Ned’s late, younger sister, Lyanna Stark. Giving his friend the chance to pay his respects, Ned said nothing.

“Did you have to bury her in a place like this?” he softly asked, “She should be on a hill somewhere, with the sun and clouds above her.”

“She was my sister. This is where she belongs.” Ned reminded.

“She belonged with me!” Robert choked as he caressed the statue’s face, “In my dreams I kill _him_ every night.”

“It’s done, Your Grace. The Targaryens are gone.” Ned reminded as he thought back to the dead bodies of Aerys, Rhaegar, Rhaegar’s wife Elia and their innocent children Rhaenys and Aegon.

“Not all of them.” Robert bitterly corrected. 

For the rest of the day, formalities were exchanged and introductions were made while the food was being prepared. Once night had fallen, the feast began filling all of Winterfell with the sound of laughter, music and chatter. Unlike the rest of the royal family, Robert, wearing his golden antler crown, sat amongst the common folk, laughing, drinking, eating and drinking some more with them. Cersei stared blankly at her husband as he kissed and fondled one of the serving girls. Catelyn tried to distract the queen by making small talk before Sansa briefly joined; after making eyes with Joffrey, of course.

Meanwhile outside, just as he was the last time Robert visited Winterfell, Jon was outside training with his sword. Not because of Catelyn, simply because the young bastard still did not care for crowds. His uncle had also returned to Winterfell, just as last time, in order to discuss with Ned the deserter he executed the month before. After greeting each other and hugging, Jon returned to his training; that is until someone new gained Jon’s attention.

“Your uncle’s in the Night’s Watch?” a dwarf with golden hair asked with a slight slur. Jon may not have been the smartest man in the north, but even he could immediately tell who the man was based on his height, hair color and clothing.

“What are you doing back there?” Jon asked, his distrust of the royal guests keeping him on guard.

“Preparing for a night with your family. I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.”

“You’re Tyrion Lannister. The queen’s brother.” Jon finally stated with a neutral expression.

“My greatest accomplishment.” Tyrion sarcastically remarked, “And you. You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?”

“Aye, I am.” Jon nodded.

“Hmm, not exactly the reaction I was expecting.” Tyrion lightly smirked.

“Had you said that to me when I was younger, I might have reacted the way you expected.” Jon replied still keeping his expression neutral, “I know what I am, I just don’t care what other people think of it.”

“Well said. I think I like you, Bastard.” Tyrion said with a drunken smile as he offered Jon his wine skin, “Wine?”

“No. Thank you, but no.” Jon politely declined, “I prefer ale.”

“Ah, but this is fine Dornish Red.” Tyrion argued, “I took the liberty of procuring several bottles from Starfall before His Grace oh, so graciously invited me to join my beloved siblings, nephews and niece.”

“From Starfall?” Jon asked.

“Yes.” Tyrion nodded. After showing a bit of hesitation, Jon relented and accepted the dwarf’s offer.

“Out of curiosity,” Tyrion began as Jon took a swig, “Why did my mentioning of Starfall change your mind?”

“…I don’t know you well enough to tell you.” Jon answered.

“Fair enough.” Tyrion shrugged as he took the skin back and drank it before passing it back, “No, no, wait! Let me guess. In fact, we could make a game out of it.”

“A game?” Jon asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“You’ve never played a drinking game before?” Tyrion asked sounding just as baffled.

“I don’t drink much.” Jon replied.

“Well, there are worse ways to start.” Tyrion urged.

“Fine. What is your game?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple, really. I guess the reason why you changed your mind and for every wrong guess, I take a drink. But, if I guess correct, you finish an entire skin.”

“Doesn’t feel like you have much left in this one.” Jon pointed out only to see his newest companion reveal a large, full wine skin concealed under his cloak. Relenting with a loud sigh, Jon motioned to the dwarf to begin.

“…You met a Dornish girl in a brothel and you have not forgotten her impression.” Tyrion began.

“No.” Jon replied.

“Damn.” Tyrion cursed before taking a swig, “Alright. You…heard tales of your father killing Arthur Dayne and you feel as though drinking Dornish Red is a reminder of your father’s victory; much like whenever someone plays the Rains of Castamere for my family.”

“What? No!” Jon replied, slightly disgusted.

“Good, because that sounded a bit too morbid for my taste, right now.” Tyrion said before taking a swig.

“Look, before this becomes even worse for me, or you drink yourself blind, whichever comes first, why don’t I just tell you?” Jon asked.

“Oh, fine!” Tyrion slurred, “If the wine is getting to you tha-that badly.”

“Right…” Jon trailed slightly in discomfort, “There might be chance that my mother is or was from Dorne.”

“Ah, yes. I remember that old rumor, now.” Tyrion said waving his finger at the young man, “About the ‘Honorable’ Eddard Stark bedding a Dornish whore during the rebellion. Or was it the late Ashara Dayne? Wouldn’t that be something, eh, Bastard?”

Having enough of the drunken dwarf, and not wanting to discuss his mother any further, Jon got up from his seat and began to walk away without saying any word to the Lannister.

“Did I offend you? Sorry.” Tyrion said realizing his mistake, “Let me give you a piece of advice, Bastard. While you may not care about what people think of you, don’t let talk of your mother break you down. You do not know who your mother is, only your father. Wear that like armor and it can never be used to hurt you.”

“What the hell would you know about not having a mother?” Jon snapped as Tyrion walked away. Keeping his face hard, yet understanding, Tyrion gave his reply.

“I killed my mother coming into this world. And neither my father, nor my sister has let me forget it.” the dwarf said before walking away. Filled with aggravation, Jon picked up his training sword and went back hacking away at the dummy.

Later, as Jon was heading in for food and ale, he saw Robb carrying a disappointed Arya to her room. Having an idea of what happened, Jon chuckled to himself before heading up to see his favorite sibling. Not even bothering to knock, Jon opened the door to Arya laying on her bed with a pout.

“I take it you had fun at the feast?” Jon teasingly asked as he stood in the doorway.

“More than Sansa.” Arya smirked.

“Was it worth it?” Jon asked.

“It got me out of listening to Myrcella and Tommen talk about the Red Keep; and I got to embarrass Sansa in front of her ‘beloved’ Joffrey.” Arya answered causing them both to laugh before she dropped her smile, “Why weren’t you there?”

“I’m not too fond of crowds, Arya.” Jon lightly replied as he came over to sit with her.

“You would have been more fun than any of them.” she argued.

“Since when did you get all soft?” Jon teased as he cupped her face and playfully smooshed her cheeks, “How much of that wine did you drink?”

“Get off!” Arya snapped, pushing his hands off as he laughed; even as she punched his shoulder. However, she still looked concerned.

“Father’s going to say yes to the king, isn’t he?” she asked.

“He might.” Jon said honestly as he pulled her in for a side hug, “He and the king seem close.”

“Would I have to go with him?” she asked nervously.

“Aye. You would.” Jon nodded as he held her close. Arya may not have been a timid girl, but even she did not care for leaving the only home she ever knew. “You would have to leave with Sansa and Father and you’d, one day, be presented with suitors wanting to marry you. And then, you’d have to leave Kings Landing and live in whatever keep, in whatever kingdom they live in and you’d be expected to give him as many children as he wants.”

“What if I don’t want them to? What if I don’t want any of that?” Arya asked.

“Then you come find me and tell me who is trying to force themselves of you, and then I’ll beat those sods black and blue into the dirt.” Jon promised, “After you’re done with them, of course.”

“…Would you come with us if Father says yes?” Arya asked, looking up at her big brother with hope in her eyes.

“…Let’s not worry about that, now.” Jon said softly before kissing her head.

“But just say that he does.” Arya stressed.

“…You know what my job is?” Jon asked as he got off the bed and kneeled before his sister, “My job, as your big brother, is to protect you. Protect you, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon until you are all strong enough to protect yourselves; and even Robb until he gets smart enough.”

They both laughed at the slight jab towards their brother before Jon continued.

“So, until that day comes, whenever it may be, I’m always going to do everything I can to protect you. No matter how far apart we are, no matter what happens to me, my first and foremost responsibility is to protect you all. So, even if Father does say yes, and I can’t come with you, if I’m stuck up here, freezing my ass off when winter comes, I will still be doing everything I can to keep you from harm. Alright?” Jon asked.

Arya nodded but did not say a word. Instead, she leapt of the bed and threw her arms around her beloved big brother and held him tight. Happy to feel his sister’s love, Jon smiled and hugged her back before kissing her cheek.

“Aright, time for bed.” Jon sighed before picking her up and playfully, yet gently, throwing her onto the bed, “Good night, _Lady Stark._ ” he said with a playful bow at the door.

“ **Reiðast af**!” Arya barked in the old tongue of the Northern First Men, as she threw her shoe at Jon who closed the door just in time, laughing as he did. As per tradition, all Northern nobles taught their children the ancient language of their ancestors to further keep to their ways and not the ways of those in the south.

After the feast ended and everyone retired, Ned and Catelyn were lying in their bed, enjoying each other’s warmth as they stared at the fireplace covered with streaks of formally melted wax. While both of them would like nothing more than to just ignore the pressing matter at hand, it could not be avoided.

“I’m a Northman.” Ned stated, “I belong here with you not down south in that rats’ nest they call a capital.”

“I won’t let him take you.” Catelyn firmly said.

“The king takes what he wants. That’s why he’s king.” Ned reminded.

“Well, I’ll say, ‘Listen, _fat_ man,’” Cat said causing Ned to chuckle as she lightly jabbed his chest as though he were Robert, “You are not taking my husband anywhere. He belongs to me now.’”

“How did he get so fat?” Ned asked as he thought back to the muscular and fit young man he grew up with.

“He only stops eating when it’s time for drink.” Cat replied playfully causing them both to laugh before a knock on the door interrupted them.

“It’s Maester Luwin, my lord.” the guard informed on the other side.

“Send him in.” Ned said.

“Pardon, my lord, my lady.” Luwin politely said as he entered and closed the door as his chain clinked, “A rider in the night from your sister.”

“From Lysa?” Catelyn asked as he left the bed to take the sealed letter, “This was sent from the Eyrie. What’s she doing at the Eyrie? She hasn’t been there since her wedding.”

After reading over the letter, panic covered Cat’s face before she threw the paper into the fireplace. Needless to say, both Ned and Luwin were concerned.

“What news?” Ned asked as he came to her side.

“She’s fled the capital. She says Jon Arryn was murdered by the Lannisters.” Catelyn gravely informed, “She says the king is in danger.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” Ned denied.

“Lysa’s head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people found that letter. Do you think she would risk her life, her son’s life if she wasn’t certain her husband was murdered?” Cat asked.

Realizing the situation, Ned began to pace and stroke his beard in both worry and thought. It was then that Maester Luwin decided to give his lord advice.

“If this news is true and the Lannisters conspire against the throne, who but you can protect the king?” he asked.

“They murdered the last Hand. Now you want Ned to take the job?!” Catelyn asked, clearly baffled.

“The kind rode for a month to ask for Lord Stark’s help. He’s the only one he trusts.” Luwin reminded, “You swore the king an oath, my lord.”

“He’s spent half his life fighting Robert’s wars. He owes him nothing.” Catelyn retorted before speaking to her husband, “Your father and brother rode south once on a king’s demand.”

“A different time; a different king.” Luwin reminded softly.

The next morning, while everyone else was eating breakfast, Bran and his pup, Summer, were wondering the grounds, eager to explore. Eventually, they came to what was known as the Broken Tower of Winterfell; a tower damaged by storms and reduced to barely a ruin. Bran had often climbed the outside walls of this tower and, despite the promise he made to his mother to stop climbing, he wanted to climb it again.

After leaving Summer alone on the ground, who cutely looked up at his master in confusion, Bran made his way over half way up the tower. As he did, he could hear the sound of a woman grunting and flesh slapping against flesh. Carefully coming to the vine covered window, the young Stark saw Queen Cersei and her twin brother Ser Jamie in a very compromising position. After watching for a few moments, Cersei looked up in horror to see Bran.

“Stop! Stop!” she said to her brother. Fearing for his life, Bran tried to get away, but Jamie caught him by the arm.

“Are you completely mad?” Jamie calmly asked the boy.

“He saw us!” Cersei panicked.

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” Jamie said the frightened boy.

“He _saw_ us!” Cersei screeched.

“I heard you the first time.” Jamie said back, no less calm before speaking to Bran, “Quite the little climber, aren’t you? How old are you, boy?”

“Ten.” Bran answered.

“Ten.” Jamie nodded as he let go of Bran’s shirt and looked back to his worried sister, “The things I do for love.”

With a gasp, Bran fell helplessly to the ground after Ser Jamie mercilessly pushed him without a care in the world. Nearby the Broken Tower, Jon was preparing the archery range to further help Bran. Before the king arrived the day before, Jon and Bran agreed to meet the next morning to practice, but the bastard had not seen his brother at all that morning.

“Bran!” Jon called out, half expecting his brother to be nearby. At the time, it was only Jon, Ghost and a few of the Winterfell servants outside.

“Seven Hells! Where is that boy?” Jon muttered before he heard the sound of one of the pups howling and barking, “Ghost, with me.” he said to his pup who obediently followed.

Coming around the corner, he saw Summer and immediately recognized him as Bran’s pup. Growing concerned, Jon followed the pup as Theon came out clutching his head making it clear he was hung over.

“Seven Hells, Snow!” he groaned, “Can’t you shut that pup up?!”

But Jon only ignored his father’s ward and continued to follow the frantic pup. After coming to the base of the tower, Jon looked in horror at his brother’s broken body and the blood beneath it, soaking into the ground.

“Get the Maester!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. Rushing over, Theon gasped at Bran’s body and nearly froze at the sight. “He’s still breathing! Get the fucking Maester here!”

“Don’t take him from us.” Jon prayed as he gently held Bran’s body as Luwin and several guards hurried over to them, “Don’t you dare take him from us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have not read this on FFN, here's a little heads up. In this story, Jon is less self-conscious and self-loathing than what we were given in the show. He's go thicker skin and a sharper tongue. In essence, he's more Targaryen than before, but it's balanced out by his Stark blood.
> 
> Also, I've made the Northern culture a bit more Viking-ish. Case in point, Arya spoke in the Old-Tongue of the First Men towards Jon when they were in her room; but it was actually how Scandinavians would say "Piss off!"
> 
> There's going to be more of that in this story, and even in the next chapter. It's just a little something I wanted to add in order to add more for some of the small details I'm adding. Trust me, it all ties in together. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. The King's Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything from GoT. Enjoy!

Time in Winterfell seemed to move slower than anywhere else in the world for the Stark family and the people who loved them. They had nearly lost Bran more times than any of them would have liked, but the boy survived. Unfortunately, he had been unconscious through it all, showing no signs of waking up. Catelyn refused to leave his side and only left when Ned had to force her out when Luwin needed her to leave.

The entire royal family offered their sympathies to the family. All of them except for Prince Joffrey who did not even have the courtesy to look sympathetic. Quite frankly, Jon had just about enough of the spoiled brat ever since the welcoming feast ended. At every moment when their fathers and his mother were not around, Joffrey would strut around Winterfell as if he was its rightful owner. Crown Prince or no, the boy was arrogant. This was especially clear when he demanded to spar against Robb with live steel instead of their training swords. No one was willing to give into his demands for various reasons.

Ser Rodrick, being the Master-at-Arms of Winterfell, refused out of the safety of his students, and the prince. He made it abundantly clear that no title thrown in his face would have changed his mind. Robb refused, a bit more delicately, because he knew he would win and refused to intentionally lose a match simply because someone had a higher position than he did; something Jon had to do for years.

Ever since they were nine, Jon had been a better fighter than his half-brother. Since he would not inherit Winterfell, or any castle for that matter, Jon had less studies than Robb and had more time to practice his swordplay, archery, ridding and all the other things he would do with his brother. When they were younger, Robb would always win when they spared. Probably because of his Tully genes, or because of whatever Jon inherited from his mother, Robb was naturally broader and stronger. Jon, on the other hand, was built like their father; slightly smaller, but stronger than most and faster. While Robb opted for strength and offense when they spared, Jon was more patient and quicker, only striking when the chance to counter was available letting his opponents tire themselves out. Robb wanted to fight like this so that when he inherited Ice, the long, Valyrian broadsword, he’d be proficient in using it in battle. Jon, however, found that, ironically, he was better suited for wielding a bastard sword.

In any case, the reason why Jon had to let his brother win was a result of one of the many instances of his childhood when he was reminded of his bastard status. When they were children, Jon had gotten fed up with losing so much, he decided to become better than the heir to Winterfell. So, one day, when Robb was especially cocky, something that came with being the undefeated firstborn, Jon put an end to it.

As they carefully stepped around in the ring, while Catelyn was watching from the balcony as she was taking a walk with Sansa and Arya, and Ned from the ground as he was discussing matters with Luwin, the two boys swung their swords. At first, it seemed like Robb was going to win, but ever eager to prove himself just as good as his brother, Jon turned the tides. Instead of using the move he normally used when they would lock blades, Jon rolled the sword to where he had it against his arm and blocked Robb’s strike. Since this was new, Robb was caught off guard and was stunned in surprise. Taking the opportunity, Jon shrugged him off, rolled back his sword, knocked Robb’s out his hands, and had the heir on his back with his training sword pointed at his chest.

Feeling proud for what he had done, Jon looked up at his teacher with a smile on his face, hoping to see a look of pride from Ser Rodrick. Unfortunately, all he received was a blank stare and a shake of the head from the knight. It was then that Jon realized how quiet the yard had become. He looked around and noticed everyone outside silently staring at him, instead of cheering for him like they always did for Robb. No matter how impressive the boy’s skills were, he had made a terrible mistake. He realized this as soon as Catelyn stormed over pushed him to the ground.

Jon could not comprehend what he had done wrong as he laid in the mud. All he could do was look around in confusion as Catelyn fussed over her son. Not that Robb was hurt, but her next actions made it seem like the bastard had gravely wounded her precious boy. Grabbing him by his curly hair, Catelyn pulled Jon up and began slapping the poor boy’s face until it was redder than her own hair. Rodrick had finally stepped in to act and tried to separate the two while Catelyn was shouting at him.

“How dare you do that to my son, you filthy bastard!” she cried as she beat him and pulled out strands of his hair, “He is the heir of Winterfell! How dare you shame your better?!”

Since that day, Jon Snow had realized no matter how hard he worked, no matter what accomplishments he made, he would always be seen as a bastard. So, even though he maintained his training, and was still better than Robb, he always allowed the heir of Winterfell to win. Unfortunately, that was just one of the aspects of Robb Stark’s upbringing that made him occasionally arrogant.

But in any event, House Stark and all who loved the noble family were heartbroken at Bran’s condition. Catelyn was rarely seen outside her son’s room and had begun to craft a prayer wheel for his recovery. Ned understood her concerns and allowed her to stay by his side, however, he was concerned for her own health. He knew how obsessive his wife could get and he was concerned for how she would be after he left for Kings Landing.

Robb tried to keep himself busy by keeping up with what he would need to take care of as the acting Lord of Winterfell once Ned was gone with his sisters. It helped take his mind off his brother, but he was secretly nervous about filling in for his father. But Theon helped him in certain matters and worked to make things a bit easier for his friend. Sansa had worried as much as her mother did, at first. But as soon as she was told Bran would survive, she went back to sucking up to Joffrey and doing her best to impress him. Arya was a mess at the beginning, but eventually calmed down after Ned repeatedly assured her it would be alright. Thankfully, she behaved from that point and did her best not to cause any trouble. As for Rickon, the only thing the youngest Stark could do to cheer himself up was play with Shaggydog.

As for Jon, he took his anger and grief out on every training dummy he had not already destroyed. Everyone but Ned, Benjen, Robb and Arya kept their distance from the brooding bastard since that day. Not for the usual reasons, but out of fear. Ever since Bran fell, Jon Snow looked as though he was going to rip out the throat of anyone who locked eyes with him; just as a Direwolf would. Only his father, uncle, brothers and sisters were spared this look, however, only the four previously mentioned dared to approach him.

He was outraged that something so horrible happened to his brother. All the dreams and activities he wanted to accomplish could never come true now that he was crippled. It infuriated Jon that his brother’s life was now as broken as his spine; and more so that there was no one to actually blame and unleash his rage on. 

He would never forget that morning. He refused to leave Bran’s side until Maester Luwin came to save him. When he shouted at Theon, he inadvertently drew everyone outside to them. He eventually heard people mutter how he was like a snarling wolf when he shouted at them all to back away. Only Summer and Ghost managed to get close enough. Summer licked his master’s face in desperation that it would help as he whimpered. Ghost, on the other hand did something Jon did not take note of until he finally calmed down.

Instead of whimpering and licking the boy as his brother did, the albino Direwolf sniffed Bran’s clothes, specifically leather jerkin where Jamie had grabbed and pushed him. Since Bran was notorious for climbing the structures of Winterfell, even in the worst conditions, and safely coming down each time, everyone was surprised to find out he had fallen. Jon, however, was not convinced.

So, one day when he knew no one would be looking for him, the young bastard took his Direwolf with him to inspect the Broken Tower. Remembering exactly when the boy fell, Jon began at that spot. He was able to quickly figure out the path Bran made for himself when he climbed and spotted the hole at the top. Clearly, that would have been at least one spot Bran would have gone to.

“There’s not much room left for him that he would have climbed. He would have at least stopped there before he kept going.” Jon thought. Having explored the tower with Robb as children, he knew exactly what was up there and the tower’s condition. “Ghost, with me.”

Reaching the top of the tower where the hole was, Jon and Ghost searched the floor. While Jon inspected the outer wall of the tower in case a brick broke causing Bran to fall, Ghost sniffed about the floor. There was one spot that had a distinct smell that reminded the albino of Theon after he visited Wintertown’s brothel. Lightly woofing at his human, Ghost alerted Jon to come to him.

“What is it, Ghost?” he rhetorically asked. In response, Ghost sniffed the floor again and pawed at it. Taking a closer look, Jon could see stains of the juices the queen made, courtesy of her brother. In addition, he found the unmistakable golden hair of house Lannister near the stains.

“How many people in this keep do you think has hair like this?” he asked the silent wolf before holding the hair up to his nose, “Ghost, smell.”

Obeying the order, Ghost sniffed the strand of hair and committed it to memory as though he was about to begin their hunt.

“Now, seek.” Jon ordered.

Sticking close to his companion, Jon followed the wolf outside and back to the keep. It did not take long for Ghost to lead his human to one of the culprits. Standing outside the sept Ned had built for Catelyn when they were married, Queen Cersei watched her daughter and youngest son play together. While Jon had already suspected the golden haired queen, he hoped it would have been someone easier to retaliate against. Unfortunately, Ghost’s subtle growling in her direction only confirmed this.

“Settle.” Jon softly commanded before thinking over what to do next. However, it was too late when Cersei and her guards strolled up to him.

“You.” she said in her regal, queenly voice, “You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, yes?”

“…Yes, My Queen.” Jon replied with a bow, “I am Jon Snow.”

“Ah, yes. I remember first hearing about you. It was quite the little scandal after my husband’s rebellion. How the honorable Lord Eddard Stark returned from Dorne with his sister’s bones and his bastard babe.” she said with condescending, fake smile, “Shouldn’t it be Jon Sand, then?”

“I would not know, Your Grace. You would have to ask Lord Stark.” Jon stiffly replied.

“Yes, I suppose so. But what brings the Bastard of Winterfell and his…pet to Winterfell’s sept? Come to pray for your half-brother?”

“He’s not a pet.” Jon thought in irritation before speaking.

“Just making sure he gets his exercise.” Jon replied with a fake smile of his own, “And, no, Your Grace. I follow the Old Gods. A bastard such as myself should not dishonor such a holy place as this.”

He was lying, of course. Jon hated that religion more than anything else in the world since it was because of those seven gods he was treated like shit his entire life by those who worshiped them. But he had learned how to play the part of a spineless bastard in front of those “above” him.

“With that in mind, I bid you a good day, Your Grace.” Jon bowed before leaving. Once they were out of the sept’s area, Ghost craned his neck to look up at Jon almost dryly.

“Don’t give me that look. She would have had both our heads if I offended her.” Jon remarked to the wolf.

Instead of further arguing with his companion, Jon decided now was the time to bring this news to his father before he rode south. Even though he was wanting to run to the solar, Jon kept his composure and walked to the chamber he knew his father would be in. However, when he arrived, he saw Jamie and Meryn Trant, another Kingsguard, standing outside the door. Obviously, this meant the king was inside with his father. As soon as the pair saw the two knights, Ghost began to snarl again like he did at Cersei. Only this time, it was towards Jamie.

“Him, too?” Jon thought as he settled the wolf before thinking the worst, “Oh, gods!”

“What do you want, bastard?” Trant snapped.

“Nothing that concerns you.” Jon coldly replied.

“Careful, boy.” Jamie warned with an arrogant smirk, “Ser Meryn may not be a popular knight, but he is a knight nonetheless.”

“Forgive me, _Ser_. We don’t really have knights up here. I guess it just doesn’t make much sense to me why I should show someone who wears wasted gold as armor any respect.” Jon retorted.

“Why you insolent-” Meryn snarled before the door open and the king walked out.

“What’s this about?” Robert asked gruffly.

“Nothing, Your Grace.” Jamie replied.

“Hmm.” the fat drunk mused before letting it go. As he walked down the hall, he gave Jon a nod and patted his shoulder in sympathy. After they left, Jon finally went in to find his father at his desk.

“Jon.” Ned said with a small smile, “What brings you here, son?”

“Father, I-” Jon began before opening the door to make sure no one was outside eavesdropping. Once it was safe, he continued.

“Father, I think I know what made Bran fall from that tower.” he said in a lowered tone.

“What do you mean?” Ned asked.

“Father, you know as well as I, and everyone else in Winterfell, that Bran has climbed that tower over a dozen times. Even when it was raining or snowing, he never fell once. Don’t you find it strange that he fell on a clear day when it hadn’t rained in weeks?”

“What are you implying, Jon?” Ned asked.

“I think…I think Bran was pushed from that tower…by the Kingslayer and the queen.” Jon softly said.

“…That is a serious accusation. What makes you believe this?” Ned asked.

“Earlier, before I came here, I took Ghost with me to search the tower. I saw stains on the floor like you would see in a brothel and golden hair near it. I thought it was just the queen, especially when Ghost growled in her direction when I told him to seek. But before I came in here, he did the same to the Kingslayer. And-and he even smelled Bran’s jerkin until Maester Luwin and Hodor got him-”

“Stop.” Ned interrupted, “Even if what you claim is true, do you understand the danger you’d be putting not only yourself, but the rest of our family in? If I understand what you are getting at, you are claiming that the queen is having an affair with her twin brother; her own husband’s Kingsguard.”

“They crippled Bran!” Jon seethed while keeping his voice down, “I know it was them.”

“Because your wolf snarled at them after smelling old hair and supposed dried juices on the floor of the Broken Tower?” Ned shot back before taking a deep breath, “I’m not saying you are lying or a fool. But you don’t understand the consequences of this accusation. Whether it is true, or not, and Robert believed it, we would still be accusing the children of Tywin Lannister, thus destroying his hold on the Iron Throne. You don’t know these people like I do; what they are capable of.”

“So we should just do nothing and let them get away with this?!” Jon snapped, “You’ll go down to Kings Landing, become their neighbors and just hope for the best Sansa or Arya don’t catch them in the same position and kill them or cripple them like Bran?”

“I gave my word to the king, Jon. If I were to retract it now, suspicions would arise and we could face war with the Lannisters.”

“I’d welcome it.” Jon declared in anger, causing his father to scoff and chuckle.

“Would you?” Ned asked without humor, “What do you know of war, boy? What do you know of taking the lives of men who had no say in fighting on the battlefield? Staining your hands with their blood and seeing their faces every night for the rest of your life? Watching your friends bleed out and die as they shit themselves? Knowing they will never return to their families because they died for you and your cause. You would welcome war? You don’t even know what war is.”

“Father-”

“That being said, I still intend to be Robert’s Hand. With that position, I will be able to do more than I would as just Warden of the North.” Ned added.

“So you’ll look into this?” Jon asked.

“Yes, because I already had my reasons for distrusting the Lannisters. Just keep your mouth shut, eh?” Ned asked with a stern look before looking back down at his documents. However, he realized that Jon had not yet left, “Was there something else?”

“Yes, there was.” Jon nodded a bit less confidently, “Father, I don’t trust the Lannisters. Even before this morning. I-I…I don’t like the idea of Sansa and Arya being surrounded by the Lannisters so far south.”

“Oh, Jon, they’ll be protected and guarded by plenty of Stark men.” Ned assured.

“I know, but…I,” Jon sighed, “I don’t want to risk it. It’s bad enough what happened to Bran. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to the girls while I was up here living in comfort with Robb and the boys.”

“What are you asking me, Jon?” Ned asked.

“Let me come with you.” Jon finally said, “I could be Sansa and Arya’s personal guard. Keep them safe.”

“What about your brothers?” Ned asked.

“Robb will still be here.” he argued, “Please, Father.”

“…I will think about it.” Ned replied, “I will speak with you later when I have made my decision.”

Silently complying, Jon nodded and left the solar with Ghost quietly following him. Ned could not help but groan in frustration as the familiar voice rang through his mind.

“ _Promise me, Ned_.”

“Oh, gods, why are you tormenting me?” he asked himself. Feeling the need to talk with the one person he had trusted in telling his secret, Ned asked his younger brother to meet with him in their family’s crypts.

“He wants to go south to the capital.” Ned said with dread to Benjen as they walked past their ancestors’ graves, “Of all the places in this damn country, he wants to go to the fucking capital, Ben.”

“Could be worse.” Benjen remarked.

“How?” Ned snapped.

“He could’ve wanted to go to Sunspear and meets the Martel princes.” Benjen smirked.

“Ben, this is serious.” Ned glared.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up. You said it yourself, Robert doesn’t remember what Lya looked like. The boy doesn’t even look like Rhaegar. Robert probably doesn’t even remember what Rhaegar looked like aside from when he caved in the man’s chest; and they were cousins who grew up together in the Red Keep. He only sees you in him, Ned.” Benjen pointed out.

“Robert’s a drunken fool who still sees himself as he was when he killed Rhaegar at the Trident.” Ned retorted, “ _He_ may not see the resemblance between Jon and Rhaegar, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t people in that shit smelling city that won’t, either. Namely Grand Maester Pycelle or Lord Varys. The only two members of Robert’s council who served on the Mad King’s council when Rhaegar filled in for his father.”

“Barristan Selmy couldn’t see the resemblance,” Benjen reminded, “And he was almost as close to the prince as Ser Arthur Dayne was.”

“I will not risk it. He’s staying here.” Ned firmly denied.

“Ned, you can’t expect the boy to remain locked in this keep for the rest of his life like a prisoner. Seven Hells, the Greyjoy brat gets out more than Jon and he’s your hostage. He’s practically a man and all he’s ever known is Winterfell, Wintertown and the road between here and to the execution grounds. If you keep him here he will never grow into what he can be.”

“And it is precisely for that reason why he’s not going.” Ned repeated.

“You would deny him out of fear for what you think he could become?” Benjen snapped, “You honestly think he’ll turn out like Areys if he sets foot in that city, or so much as looks at that damn chair?”

“Do not lecture me about the Iron Throne, little brother.” Ned glared, “You’ve never even seen the damn thing. You don’t know what it does to people. Call it what you will, but there is a curse, or a sickness on that throne. It corrupts and twists the minds of all who desire it and drives them mad.”

“You don’t know that he wants it, Ned.” Benjen stressed, “All he wants is to protect his sisters from the snakes, and lions, that fill that putrid city. You’ve raised him as a bastard of House Stark, not a prince of House Targaryen.”

“And what if being in that city is what finally awakens his sire’s blood?” Ned asked. He refused to even think of calling Rhaegar Jon’s father. He was that boy’s father, no one else. “What if simply being in the presence of that damn chair awakens his Valyrian blood? Have you forgotten what happened when that fever nearly took him?”

“I will never forget, brother.” Benjen growled like the wolf he was, “I understand your concerns. Truly, I do. But if you continue to live in fear of losing that boy, one day soon, your fears will finally come true.”

“…He is my son. I will not lose him to that damn city like we lost our family. I promised our sister that I would keep him safe. It’s bad enough what I’ve let Cat do to him throughout his life. I will never forgive myself for allowing him to suffer such torment.”

“Nor will I.” Benjen coldly stated before looking at the statue that failed to capture their sister’s beauty. They both loved their sister, and loved her son as if he were their own. Each brother believed what they were doing was for the sake of the only connection they had left to her.

“What about this instead?” Benjen began to offer, “Heed his wishes and let him come with you. If you think, _truly_ think because of evidence and not just your own paranoia, that someone sees Rhaegar in him, or that he is on the verge of being corrupted by the throne, send him back. That way, he’ll be able to be there for his sisters and you can make sure his coin is not going to land on the same side as his grandfather’s; or worse.”

“…Very well.” Ned relented.

“I think you and the rest of the world has forgotten that not every Targaryen is a madman, brother.” Benjen remarked as they made their way to the exit.

“Heh, tell that to the king whose grandmother was a Targaryen. That should help calm him down if we get caught.” Ned scoffed with his grim, Stark humor.

“You mean if _you_ get caught.” Benjen mocked with the playful, ornery grin of a younger brother, “I’ve got immunity thanks to this cloak of mine.”

“Ah, yes. One of the many perks of being a celibate brother of the order of frozen testicles.” Ned retorted as they left the crypt, “While those south of the Wall lose their heads to the sword, you lot lose your limbs and balls to the cold.”

Later that day, Ned called for Jon to meet with him in his solar to discuss the conditions of his role in the capital. Even though Ned was entirely against it, his brother’s words had persuaded him to at least give his son a chance. Plus, there was a little voice in the back of his mind telling him that considering everything else he had cheated Jon out of, he at least owed his boy this one request.

“I have considered your request and have made my decision.” he said to his son, “I will allow you to act as Sansa and Arya’s guard during my time as Hand of the King. You will alternate between guarding your sisters when they are separated. You will also be acting as a vassal of House Stark and shall represent us. So, you will be on your best behavior. Jory shall be accompanying us and will act as head of my guards. Therefore, you answer to him like you would me. He’s your commander now.”

“I understand. Thank you, Father.” Jon said sincerely.

“There’s more.” Ned continued, “As bodyguard to the Hand’s daughters, you will have to train twice as hard, possibly with less time than you are accustomed to. I’ll make sure you have periods of rest, but your duties will require more work and time from you than ever. So, I better not see any slacking or decline in your training.”

“You won’t. You have my word.” Jon nodded eagerly.

“Good.” Ned nodded with a small smile at the sight of his, typically, brooding son happy, “We leave in five days. Spend it with your brothers.”

Just as Ned said, in five days, all of the guests of Winterfell were putting the final touches on their departure for Kings Landing. As they did, Ned spent his time with the sons he would be leaving behind. He bonded with Robb as he helped prepare his firstborn for his duties as Lord of Winterfell. There were also small things he included to remind his son how proud he was and how much he loved Robb. Despite the brave face he was putting on, Robb was nervous and sad that his father was leaving.

Bran was still in his coma, much to Ned’s sadness. He wanted to stay until the boy woke up, but Luwin could not tell when that would be. So, even though he couldn’t interact with Bran like he wanted, Ned still found a way. When Catelyn allowed him moments alone, typically at night, Ned would speak and sing to his boy in the tongue of the First Men, hoping the language of their ancestors might help in some way. He would tell Bran stories about the First Men, his childhood in Winterfell and the Eyrie, the family members Bran never got to meet. Then he would sing songs Nan taught him as a boy in their ancient tongue. About the Long Night and its horrors. But, he would also sing epic tales his mother and father taught him and his siblings about the Old Gods, the heroes of the north and House Stark. It wasn’t much, but he poured his heart into those stories and songs.

As for Rickon, who was too young to do most of the things his brothers could do, Ned simply played with him, listened to his youngest babble about his wolf and their adventures, his dreams he had the nights before, and many other things. Ned also tried to teach the youngest Stark about the ways of the north as much as he could before he left. Since Rickon was so young and often daydreamed during his lessons, he was not as fluent in the Old Tongue as his siblings were. So, Ned would incorporate as many words as he could whenever they were together.

Jon mostly did the same with his younger brothers whenever he could. However, as Arya and Sansa’s bodyguard, he had to be educated on certain rules regarding the south and the capital. Also, he had to be fitted for the standard bannermen’s armor of House Stark. Much to his relief, he was not required to wear the ball-shaped helm that came with it. Though, he would have preferred different colors than the set’s brown and green. But he didn’t care, he was still going south to protect his sisters and finally getting away from their horrid mother.

Catelyn had been furious when Ned told her about Jon’s role. At first, she had been delighted when she heard her husband say that Jon was leaving. However, as soon as he explained what he would be doing, she looked so disgusted that she was about to vomit. The thought of her only precious daughters constantly being watched by that dreadful bastard made her sick to her stomach. As Ned expected, she ranted about how Jon was going to defile the girls or seduce them into helping him take Winterfell from Robb and the rest of them.

Ironically, somehow in her ranting she brought up how the Mad King was known to rape his sister-wife during their marriage and accused Jon of potentially doing the same thing. Since Ned absolutely hated the Mad King, and the thought of Jon turning out like his grandfather even more, that argument spiraled into one of the few moments in their marriage where Ned actually shouted at his wife in defense of his bastard son.

“Be silent, woman, or I will silence you myself!” he snarled that night. It was times like that that made Ned’s title as the Quiet Wolf sound ironic. 

Ned had only done that to Catelyn a few times in their marriage. When she first felt brave enough to demand him to get rid of Jon when he was a baby, when Jon defeated Robb in their training, and shortly after Robert left Winterfell the first time, regarding how she treated Jon while he was away. Catelyn never apologized in any of those instances, and it may have made her hate Jon even more each time. It was in those moments of anger and resentment that made Ned think of that beautiful, violet-eyed Dornish woman he danced with and fell in love with at Harrenhall. Had he married her like he wanted, maybe she could have been the mother Jon needed. But then again, had his older brother not rode to the Red Keep and demanded the Silver Prince’s head, a great many things could have turned out differently.

Since that night, Ned had avoided Catelyn. Normally, Sansa would have felt the same way as her mother, but she was too preoccupied in her daydreams about marrying Prince Joffrey to care, or even realize what was happening. Arya, on the other hand, was ecstatic that her favorite brother was coming with her. She considered it to be the only good thing coming out of this whole arrangement the king made with her father.

As for Robb, he was upset with the sudden decision his half-brother made. He had always wanted, and assumed, Jon would stay with him in Winterfell and rule at his side. Despite their difference in mothers, and technically fathers, Robb felt like Jon was practically his twin. He believed in his brother because his brother believed in him and that was something he felt like he always needed; now more than ever. But his brother was not the sibling Jon had on his mind.

Since all his things were packed and ready, Jon was taking care of some last minute business for his other siblings before he left. Standing before Winterfell’s blacksmith’s forge, Jon watched the smith put the final touches on a very special sword he had made. That is until a smooth voice came up from behind.

“A sword for the capital?”

Jon turned around and saw the Kingslayer out of his armor analyzing him.

“I already have one.” Jon replied as he nodded at the sword he was wearing.

“Good man. Have you swung it yet?” Jamie asked.

“Of course I have.” Jon replied slightly defensive at the man he believed crippled his brother.

“At someone, I mean.” Jamie clarified getting silence as his answer, “Strange thing, first time you cut a man. You realize we’re nothing but sacks of meat, blood and some bones to keep it all standing. It’s a brave thing you’re doing; going south to protect your sisters. But protect them from what, I wonder?”

“Starks don’t do well in the south.” Jon coldly replied.

“Ah, yes. Your uncle and grandfather learned that the hard way.” Jamie replied causing Jon to glare at him, “I remember that day as though it only just happened. How Rickard Stark burned away in Wildfire as his son strangled himself to death as he clawed at the ground to reach his sword. All anyone could hear was the sounds of the Warden of the North screaming in agony as the Mad King laughed like a giddy, young boy, clapping as the flames devoured the man. Good thing ol’ Areys is dead now, eh? Be a shame that anyone suffer such a fate, let alone someone bearing the Starks’ good name.”

Leaving it at that hinted threat, the Golden Lion walked off with his usual, arrogant smirk. Trying to get his mind off the man, Jon turned back to the smith who was looking at him with a dry expression.

“Fucking southerners.” the old smith spat before giving Jon the skinny sword he had crafted. 

As Jon made his way into Arya’s room, he saw her packing up her clothes in bundles. Judging by the sour look on her face, she would have done anything else at that moment. Her wolf Nymeria simply watched her human in curiosity as she packed.

“Septa Mordane said I have to pack all my clothes again. Says they’re not properly folded. Who cares how they’re folded?! They’re gonna get all messed up anyway!” Arya pouted as her brother smirked at her.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got help.” he said.

“Watch. Nymeria, gloves.” she commanded only for her wolf to look at her in confusion.

“Impressive.” he joked.

“Shut up.” Arya snapped, “Nymeria, gloves!”

“I have something for you.” Jon said when he realized how long the routine could drag out, “It has to be packed very carefully.”

“A present?” Arya asked with a childish glint in her eyes.

“Close the door.” he said. Once she did, he unveiled the sword he just picked up and presented it to her, “This is no toy. Be careful you don’t cut yourself.”

“It’s so skinny!” Arya said happily.

“So are you.” he smiled, “I had the blacksmith make it special for you. It won’t hack a man’s head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you’re quick enough.”

“I can be quick.” she promised.

“You’ll have to work it every day. How’s it feel? Do you like the balance?”

“I think so.” she said before he kneeled to her eye level.

“First lesson: stick ‘em with the pointy end.” he informed.

“I know which end to use.” she pouted, causing him to chuckle fondly.

“We’re going to a dangerous place, little sister. You need to know how to protect yourself when I can’t. Lesson number two: everything is a weapon. Especially this.” Jon said as he tapped his sister’s head, “This is the most important weapon of them all. Hone it like you would a sword and you will never be beaten.”

Nodding her head, Arya took her big brother’s words to heart and committed them to memory. In thanks, she was about to jump up and hug, only for him to stop her and remind her she was still holding the sword. After gently setting it aside, she jumped up and wrapped her arms around her favorite brother’s neck, feeling his love as they squeezed each other tightly.

“All the best swords have names, you know.” he said.

“…Sansa can keep her sewing needles. I’ve got a needle of my own.” she said causing Jon to chuckle again.

“You better get finished packing. We’ll be leaving soon. Don’t forget to say goodbye to Bran.” he reminded before setting her down and leaving to do exactly that.

When Jon arrived in Bran’s room, Catelyn had been in the process of making a doll to represent one of her seven gods for the Prayer Wheel she was making for her son. Neither of them wanted to be near each other, but both were in that room for Bran. When she glared at Jon, he just glared right back.

“I’ve come to say goodbye to Bran.” he flatly said to the spiteful woman.

“You’ve said it.” she spat as she avoided eye contact and continued to make her wheel. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of obeying her, Jon kneeled on the opposite side of Bran’s bed she was sitting next to.

“I wish I could be here when you wake up. I’m going south with our father and sisters. I’ll watch over them and keep them safe, like Robb will do for you and Rickon. I know you always wanted to become a knight and join the Kingsguard, but I’ll put in a good word for you with the Lord Commander once we reach the Red Keep. You can come and visit us and train with him once you’re better. I’ll know my way around the city by then. We can see the Dragon Pit and look for dragon bones, together.”

As he was speaking, Jon could feel the piercing glare of the woman across from him. With tears in her eyes, Catelyn glared at her husband’s bastard with all the hate she had in her body.

“I want you to leave.” she seethed in hatred.

In one last act of defiance, Jon glared back at her and pressed a kiss on Bran’s forehead. Wanting to leave it at that, Jon made his way to the door. That is until Catelyn spoke to him for what they both thought, and hoped, would be the last time.

“Jon?” she said to him. Never before could he think of any moment in his life when Catelyn called the boy just Jon. It was always Snow, Bastard, or Jon Snow. Never just Jon. Maybe, he thought, she was willing to offer some kind words to him for once. That the tragedy of her son’s fall was going to bring her to offer the boy she had abused some compassion.

“My lady?” he asked as he turned back to face her, just as Ned had entered the doorway to say goodbye.

“It should have been you.” Catelyn spat as her tears slipped down her face.

Even though Jon had never felt any form of attachment to the mother of his half-siblings, hearing the woman say he should have been the one to nearly die and become crippled like Bran was the cruelest thing Catelyn Stark, formally of House Tully, had ever said to him. If anyone had asked him what he felt when he heard those words, he would say that it was like a punch to the heart; although, he could never understand why.

It left him speechless, and he couldn’t stand to be in the room any longer. So, the Bastard of Winterfell brushed past his father and left to finish his preparations. It was a shock to Ned to hear his wife say such a horrible thing. But he knew she was distraught and chose to excuse her for speaking to his son that way because of it. Wanting to leave on good terms with his wife, Ned approached her to bid her farewell.

“Seventeen years ago, you rode off with Robert Baratheon. You came back a year later with another woman’s son. And now you’re leaving again.” Catelyn bitterly choked.

“I have no choice.” Ned defended.

“That’s what men always say when honor calls. That’s what you tell your families. Tell yourselves. Brandon said it to me when he rode south to demand Rhaegar return your sister. You said it when you rode off to fight those damned rebellions. You do have a choice, and you’ve made it.” Catelyn choked as she cried.

“Cat,” Ned said gently as he tried to hold her hand, only to watch her yank it away.

“I can’t do it, Ned. I really can’t!” she argued through her sniffles.

“You can. You must.” he said before leaving her and their boy.

Outside, after changing into his cloak and new armor, Jon grabbed his saddle and made his way to his horse. As he did, Robb strode over to join him.

“Have you said goodbye to Bran?” Robb asked as his brother nodded, “He’s not going to die. I know it. I wish you would stay to see him wake.”

“You Starks are hard to kill north of the neck. That’s why I’m going.” Jon reminded.

“My mother?” Robb asked already having an idea of what happened.

“She was very kind.” Jon automatically lied.

“Never thought the day would come where I would see you in Stark colors. Always thought you’d be all in black instead of green and brown.” Robb jested.

“Oh, don’t rub it. I feel ridiculous enough as it is, wearing these bright colors.” Jon retorted as they laughed.

“Just don’t go wearing any gold armor with a white cloak.” Robb laughed before dropping his smile.

“There is one thing I have to ask of you.” Jon said in a serious tone.

“Name it.” Robb said. Turning his head, his brother nodded towards his albino companion silently waiting for his human to join him.

“Look after him while I’m gone.” Jon pleaded.

“You’re not taking him with you?” Robb asked.

“The south is no place for a direwolf. Plus, anything I do that offends the Lannisters, or anyone in that city, he’ll be the one who gets punished first. I won’t let some perfumed, southern shit use him for a pelt because of something I did.”

“Sounds like you’re planning on doing something that would cause that.” Robb noted.

“Let’s just say I’m prepared to do what I must to protect our family, and leave it at that.”

“Hmm. You have my word. No one will touch him. I’ll keep him safe from my mother.” Robb said know Catelyn was the only real threat to Ghost in Winterfell, “Farewell, Snow.”

“And you, Stark.” Jon said back before Robb pulled his closest and oldest friend and confidant in for a tight hug.

“ **Takkarer, minn bróðir**.” Robb said in the Old Tongue as they hugged.

“ **Ok þú, bróðir** ” Jon said back. After saddling his horse, Jon made his way over to his wolf to say goodbye.

“Robb will look after you while I’m gone.” he said as he kneeled before the albino, “He’ll keep Lady Stark from trying anything. I want to take you with me, but you deserve better than some crowded, hot city in the south. I’ll miss you, boy.”

Even while remaining silent like the grave, Ghost looked at his human with the closest thing to a sad expression the direwolf could give. To cheer him up, Jon stroked Ghost behind the ear and traveled down to under his jaw, just like the wolf enjoyed. As he did, Ghost licked Jon’s forearm before nudging his nose against his face and licking his whisker covered face.

“Yeah, I love you, too.” Jon grumbled with a small smirk before affectionately ruffling Ghost’s head.

After following his fellow Northmen out of the only home he had ever known, Jon looked out at the open country, slightly nervous. The only time in his life he had ever been south was when he was a baby being brought north with his father after the rebellion. Even though he was, technically, born in the south, he was a Northman in every respect. Leaving his chilly homeland just seemed wrong to him. As he brooded over these thoughts following behind his father’s horse, his Uncle Benjen rode up to join them when they reached the checkpoint of the Kingsroad.

“Sure you don’t want to ride off with me instead of that old man?” Benjen asked his nephew with a smirk.

“Careful, First Ranger. You’re still on my land.” Ned retorted with a smirk of his own.

“Then may I ask the Hand of the King and Warden of the North to allow his retainer a moment with his favorite uncle?” he asked.

“Hmph. Go on, then.” Ned said with a small smile and nod at his son before riding ahead.

“I remember the day your father brought you here like it was yesterday.” Benjen said in nostalgia as he gazed out at his former home, “The second he dismounted his horse, he rushed over to take you in his arms from your wet nurse. The newest member of the pack. You and your brother, the beginning of the new generation of Starks. You may not have our name, but you _are_ a Stark.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Jon said, trying to hide his blush. He knew his uncle would always see him as a Stark, but it still embarrassed Jon to hear such praises in public.

“You’re a good lad, Jon. Take care of yourself, and our family down there.” Benjen said with a nod before turning his horse north to join Tyrion and his retainers.

“Uncle,” Jon said, looking nervous, “Do…do you know if my mother is alive? Does she know about me? Where I am? Where I’m going? Does she care?”

For a moment, Benjen hesitated as the ocean of fond memories he had with Jon’s mother flooded his mind. Like Ned, any thought about Lyanna brought joy and sadness like no other to his heart; more-so for Benjen since he spent more time with her than either of their brothers. Her smile was always a treasured memory, and it hurt him how rarely her own son would display that same smile. He knew he could not tell Jon the truth, because of his vow to Ned, and because they were too close to so many people who would not hesitate to kill the boy and bring his head to Robert. But, for the love Benjen Stark had for his sister, and the love he had for her son, he would not deny Jon what he was about to say.

“Wherever your mother is, Jon, I know she is proud of you. And that she loves you with every fiber of her soul.” Benjen said with a sad smile before kicking his horse and heading back to the Wall.

Later on, after the king and his family led the way out of Winterfell, traveling for miles through the open range of the North, the king decided to stop to stretch his legs, eat and relieve his bladder on the nearest tree. Wanting to spend time with his best friend, he called for his new Hand to join him. 

“Gods, this is country!” Robert bellowed happily as he took in the sight of the open wild they were camped at, “I’ve half a mind to leave them all behind and keep going.”

“I’ve half a mind to go with you.” Ned added.

“What do you say, just you and me on the Kingsroad, swords at our sides, a couple of tavern wenches to warm our beds tonight?” Robert suggested with a grin.

“You should have asked me twenty years ago.” Ned scoffed with a smirk as he soaked in the sun and breeze.

“There were wars to fight, women to marry. We never had the chance to be young.” Robert reminded.

“I recall a few chances.” Ned smirked causing Robert to burst laughing.

“There was that one, oh, what was her name? That common girl of yours. Becca with the great big tits you could burry your face in.” Robert recalled.

“Bessie. And she was one of yours.” Ned corrected.

“Bessie! Thank the gods for Bessie. And her tits.” Robert laughed, “Yours was, er, Aleena? No, no, you told me once. Meryl? Your bastard’s mother? She must have been a rare woman to make Lord Eddard Stark forget his honor. You never talk about her.”

“Nor will I.” Ned stiffly replied as the face of his sister on her deathbed/birthing bed entered his mind again.

“We were at war.” Robert reminded with sympathy for his friend, “None of us knew if we were gonna make it back home again. You’re too hard on yourself. You always have been. Who was it? The only one that comes to mind is…oh. Oh, Ned. It wasn’t the Dayne girl was it?”

Ned said nothing. Although, the memories he had of that beautiful woman he once danced with brought almost as much pain as the memories of his sister did. He never wanted to talk about either woman with anyone, especially Robert, so he just sat in silence as he stared at the hills.

“I know you don’t like to talk about her, so I’ll leave it be.” Robert relented, “I didn’t see much of her at Harrenhall, but she was a beauty. It’s a shame her brother stayed loyal to the Mad King. There’ll never be another Sword of the Morning like Ser Arthur Dayne.”

“Consider yourself lucky he wasn’t on the Trident. Or else you never would have lived long enough to be called its demon.” Ned chuckled.

“Aye, on that, I don’t deny.” he laughed, “But he was no match for the ferocity of the Quiet Wolf. Eh? Gods, that must have been a hell of a fight!”

“It cost me six of the bravest men the North had known and robbed the world of the greatest fighter to ever wield Dawn. Not to mention what it did to his sister.” Ned thought.

“Still though, if you hadn’t fucked whoever it was you fucked, you’d have been the only one out of the three of us who got a perfect marriage from that rebellion.” the fat king laughed.

“I don’t regret what I did, Robert. Not for a moment.” Ned snapped, dropping his joking mood, “I made my choices, and I stand by them. They gave me my son, and all my other children who came after.”

“Meant no offense. I swear if I weren’t your king, you’d have hit me already.” Robert joked, trying to break the tension.

“The worst thing about your coronation: I’ll never get to hit you again.” Ned retorted with a small smirk.

“Trust me, that’s not the worst thing. There was a rider in the night.” Robert informed as he passed a letter to Ned.

“Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horse lord. What of it?” Ned dismissed as he furled the paper and passed it back, “Should we send her a wedding gift?”

“A knife perhaps. A good sharp one and a bold man to wield it.” Robert spat.

“She’s little more than a child.” Ned chastised.

“Soon enough that child will spread her legs and start breeding.”

“Tell me we’re not speaking of this.”

“Oh, it’s unspeakable to you?” Robert snapped, “What her father did to your family, that was unspeakable. What Rhaegar Targaryen did to your sister, the woman I loved, that was unspeakable.”

“And yet you bring both up nearly every time you open your mouth to speak to me.” Ned scoffed in his mind.

“I’ll kill every Targaryen I get my hands on.” Robert seethed.

“But you can’t get your hands on this one, can you?” Ned countered.

“This Khal Drogo, it’s said he has one-hundred-thousand men in his horde.”

“Even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm as long as they remain on the other side of the Narrow Sea. They have no ships, Robert.”

“There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me, ‘Usurper.’ If Viserys Targaryen crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the scum will join him.”

“He will not cross. And if by chance he does, we’ll throw him back into the sea.” Ned replied, hoping it would put an end to the conversation. While he had no feelings towards or against the Targaryen children, Ned did not blame them for the crimes of their father. Nor could he think of their deaths being justified while he continued to look after their nephew as his own.

“…There’s a war coming, Ned.” Robert warned, “I don’t know when, I don’t know who we’ll be fighting, but it’s coming.”

A few days after the king and his new Hand were had their discussion, the Stark, Baratheon and Lannister forces set up their camps near a small village in the Riverlands. Since they had to stop in that village before on the way to Winterfell, the villagers were prepared for the king’s return and allowed the knights and soldiers to settle in. As they did, Sansa decided to take Lady for a walk near the inn she, her family, and the royal family were staying in. As she looked off to the side at a gaggle of southern ladies giggling and gossiping with each other, she bumped into a stoic, frighteningly ugly man scowling at her.

“Pardon me, Ser.” she softly said only to see the man continue to glare and growl. As she took a step back, she gasped after bumping into the Hound, Sandor Clegane.

“Do I frighten you so much, girl? Or is it him, there, that’s making you shake?” he asked jerking his head at the mute, “He frightens me, too. Look at that face.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you, Ser.” Sansa apologized. But the man simply growled before lurking away, “Why won’t he speak to me?”

“He hasn’t been very talkative these past twenty years. Since the Mad King had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers.” Sandor replied just as Joffrey came over to join them.

“Speaks damn well with his sword though.” the prince smirked at his betrothed, “Ser Illyan Payne; the King’s Justice. The royal executioner. What is it, Sweetling? Does the Hound frighten you? Away with you, Dog! You’re scaring my lady.”

With a curt bow, the burnt man took his leave until he was called upon by his prince again; much to his utter displeasure.

“I don’t like to see you upset. The sun’s finally shining. Come walk with me.” he said with a charming smirk.

“Stay, Lady.” Sansa said to her pet before naively following her golden prince.

Not far away from encampment, over by a river Jon was doing his duty as his sisters’ bodyguard as he watched Arya play with her new friend, Mycah, the butcher’s son. Despite the fact she was still wearing her northern dress, Arya decided to do things her way, as always, and run around getting dirty and pretending to fight with swords. Jon didn’t see the harm in it and actually saw it as a good way for his sister to begin her sword practice; and for him to see just how much work she was going to need.

“Move your feet!” he said past his smile as he watched his sister play with the plump redhead. It reminded him of when he use to spar with Robb when they were children. But, out of the corner of his eye, he could see his other sister with the prince, and a wineskin.

“I probably shouldn’t have any more.” he heard Sansa decline, “My father only lets us have one cup at feasts.”

“My princess can drink as much as she wants.” Joffrey smoothly assured as he offered her the wineskin.

“Oh, what are you doing, Sans?” Jon thought in discouragement towards his little sister. Even if she was a pain, and a near duplicate of her mother in looks and attitude, he still needed to protect his sister; even from herself.

“Arya!” Sansa scolded as they came over and spotted the spar. In surprise from her sister’s voice, Arya was distracted just briefly enough for Mycah to accidently strike her hand with his stick.

“What are you doing here?” Arya snapped.

“Your Grace.” Jon nodded, feeling the need to keep his guard up when he noticed Joffrey’s hand resting on his sword’s hilt.

“Go away!” Arya barked at them.

“Your sister?” he asked Sansa, “And the tall one is?”

“Our brother.” Arya said with a sneer.

“ _Half_ -brother.” Sansa corrected in spite.

“A bastard, then?” Joffrey arrogantly asked, “And who are you, boy?”

“Mycah, m’lord.” Mycah nervously answered as he dropped his stick.

“He’s the butcher’s boy.” Sansa sneered. Based on her footing, Jon could tell that she had one too many sips from the skin she was still clutching.

“He’s my friend!” Arya defended.

“A butcher’s boy who wants to be a knight?” Joffrey asked with a dangerous look in his eye, “And what are you doing here, _bastard_?

“Your Grace, I am the personal guard to the Hand of the King’s daughters.” Jon smoothly replied with a slight bow of his head.

“Is that so?” he asked, “And where were you when my betrothed was all alone, surrounded by armed and dangerous men?”

“Watching this one.” Jon said, jerking his head at Arya. He knew that Joffrey was trying to come off as intimidating and dangerous, but frankly, he just looked a malicious little shit.

“And yet, you allowed this commoner to strike your charge’s hand right in front of you.” Joffrey challenged.

“We Northerners are tougher than most.” Jon coolly replied.

“Hmm. Still, he struck a lady and that cannot go unpunished. Pick up your sword, butcher’s boy, and let’s see how good you are.” Joffrey ordered Mycah as he drew his very much real, and sharp sword.

“She asked me to, m’lord. She asked me to.” Mycah said in fear as Joffrey approached him.

“I am your _prince_. Not your lord.” Joffrey sternly corrected, “And I said, pick up your sword.”

“It’s not a sword, my prince. It’s only a stick.”

“And _you’re_ not a knight. Only a butcher’s boy.” Joffrey coldly taunted as he pressed his blade against the boy’s cheek, “That was my lady’s sister you were hitting. Did you know that?”

“Stop it!” Arya shouted.

“Arya, stay out of this!” Sansa ordered, as though she had any authority over the wild girl.

“Jon, do something!” Arya pleaded to her conflicted brother.

“This isn’t right.” he bitterly thought as his hand hovered over his sword. It wasn’t fear that made him hesitate. It was the simple fact that the sadistic little brat in front of him was the crown prince to all of Westeros. If he drew his sword at him, even if provoked, it would end in either his own death, or issues for his father and the rest of his family. He had to be patient, and play his cards right.

“I won’t hurt him. _Much_.” Joffrey said with sadistic glee before slowly cutting the boy’s face. Having enough, Arya let out a roar and struck Joffrey’s back with her stick, causing him to buckle his knees.

“Arya!” Sansa shouted in protest.

“Filthy, little bitch!” Joffrey snarled as he swung his sword at her while Mycah ran away.

“No! No, stop it! Stop it, both of you! You’re spoiling it! You’re spoiling everything!” Sansa shouted at her sister.

“I’ll gut you, you little shit!” Joffrey snarled as he aimed his sword at her after she fell to the ground. As he raised his sword to kill the girl, his blade was halted by Jon’s own sword.

When Joffrey looked up in fury to see who dared to stop him, he staggered in fear when he saw how cold and focused Jon’s eyes were. In that moment, Jon struck the prince with a swing of the back of his hand, causing the prince to spin and fall. Surprisingly, Joffrey was quick to get back on his feet. Unsurprisingly, however, he just frantically swung his sword at Jon who smoothly dodged each swing. If Joffrey ever did receive any training, his teacher clearly never had the balls to correct the prince when he made a mistake.

“Jon, stop it!” Sansa wailed in a tantrum, “Oh, you stupid bastard! You’re ruining everything!”

Despite every instinct and nerve in his body telling him to kill Joffrey, Jon knew how much trouble it would cause if he did. So, knowing fully well he was going to be severely punished no matter what happened, Jon decided to make quick work of things and end this one-sided fight.

With a few skillful parries, Jon locked his sword with Joffrey’s, spun it three times and broke the prince’s grip, disarming him and taking the sword into his free hand. In fear, Joffrey staggered back and fell flat on his back, cowering in fear at the man who now wielded two blades.

“No.” he whimpered pathetically, “No! Please, don’t!”

“Jon, leave him alone!” Sansa shouted.

“He tried to kill a member of the pack.” a voice in the back of his head softly said, “He’ll do it again. Kill him.”

As a firm believer and admirer of poetic justice, Jon discarded his own sword and raised Joffrey’s, ready to impale it through the brat’s body and into the ground under him. His soul both cold and blazing at the same time, Jon was going to do it, and would have if not for the scared voice of his baby sister.

“Jon?” she softly asked, looking frightened. Arya Stark may not have been a weak girl like her sister, but this side of her beloved and favorite brother managed to scare her to her bones; especially when his gaze flashed towards her. It was that scared look on his sister’s face that was able to calm Jon just enough to change his decision.

With a deep breath, Jon thrusted the steel blade down with all his might, causing Joffrey to cry out in fear of his life. However, instead of his heart or stomach, the weapon was deeply imbedded into the ground, right between Joffrey’s legs and mere inches away from his crotch, now becoming soaked with his own, princely urine.

“Girls, we’re going back to the inn.” Jon ordered as he glared down his nose at the piss reeking teen.

“But, Jon-” Sansa whined.

“NOW!” he ferociously shouted, startling her to a stop.

After picking up and sheathing his sword, Jon stomped over to grab Sansa by the arm and drag her back with them. And for good measure, he knocked away the wineskin before anyone else saw the eldest daughter of the new Hand drinking as early as the king would. But, when their backs were turned, Joffrey seethed with anger as he intensely glared at Arya’s back. In his anger, he ripped out his dagger from his belt and scrambled up to stab the young Stark to death. But, before he was even halfway there, Nymeria suddenly pounced from the bushes and latched her maw into his arm, causing him to scream out in pain.

“Arya!” Sansa shouted in horror.

“Nymeria!” Arya cried out as she tried to pull her companion off.

“Arya!” Sansa shouted even louder as her siblings pulled the Direwolf off. Once Nymeria released the arm, she and Arya ran off into the woods.

“Arya!” Jon shouted at her, “Fuck! Sansa, go back to the inn, now.”

“But, my prince is-”

“Go back to the inn!” Jon shouted before running after their sister, “Arya, come back!”

“My prince,” Sansa said as she crouched near the whimpering and bleeding Joffrey, “My poor prince. Look at what they’ve done to you. Stay here. I’ll go back to the inn and bring help.”

“Then go!” he snarled at her, “Don’t touch me.”

“Arya!” Jon called out as he searched the woods. If there was ever a moment he wanted to curse his sister’s swiftness, it was then. He had been looking for almost an hour at this point and was beginning to worry. If it was not himself or their father’s bannermen who found her, then it would be the Lannisters, and Jon would not allow the Lannisters to kill his sister like they did Rhaenys Targaryen.

“Arya!” he called out at the top of his lungs.

“There!” a man nearby shouted, “I found the bastard!”

“Seize him!” another shouted as Lannister soldiers began to surround him.

“Fuck.” Jon quietly cursed as he raised his hands in surrender. 

Soon enough, when neither his son nor his youngest daughter returned to the inn, Ned gathered his men to search for the two of them. They searched from dusk to the dead of night searching for them both, completely unaware of Jon’s capture.

“Arya!” Ned shouted louder than any of his men, “Jon!”

“Arya!” his men shouted, “Snow!”

“My lord!” Jory alerted as he rode in and rushed to Ned’s side, “My lord! We found Arya; she’s unharmed.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“She’s been taken directly before the king.”

“Who took her?” Ned demanded.

“The Lannisters found her.” Jory replied, “They’ve got the lad, as well. They’ve got bound in chains at the inn!”

“When I get back!” Ned snarled, enraged at his children’s treatment as he marched back to the inn.

“The queen means to execute him!” Jory added in panic.

“Back! Back to the inn! Fall back!” Ned shouted to his bannermen. Hurrying as fast as he could for the sake of his son’s life, Ned marched into the inn and shoved past every Lannister that got in his way. When he reached Robert and Cersei and spotted Arya, he immediately pulled her close to him so he could make sure she was unharmed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Arya apologized for making her father worry.

“Are you hurt?” he asked calmly.

“No.” Arya said, but no less scared. In response, Ned pulled her in for a comforting hug and kissed her head to calm her. Dropping his fatherly persona, Ned resumed the harsh nature he reserved only for matters as both warrior and Warden.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded the fat king, “Why were my children not brought to me at once?!”

“How dare you speak to your king like that?” Cersei arrogantly scolded as her injured son stood next to her.

“Quiet, woman!” Robert barked before calming down for his friend, “Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. But we need to get this business done quickly.”

“Where is my son, Robert?” Ned demanded.

“Bring him in.” Robert sighed in displeasure. A moment later, Jon was escorted in, bound in chains and a mule harness to act as a makeshift stockade. Ned’s blood boiled even more when he saw the bruises and dried blood on his son’s lip. Clearly, the Lannisters felt arrogant enough to beat his son and thought they could get away with it due to his status.

“Your bastard, your girl and that butcher’s boy attacked my son. That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off.” Cersei coldly said to Ned.

“That’s not true!” Arya protested, “She just…bit him a little. They were both protecting me. From him.”

“Joff told us what happened. The three of you beat him with clubs before the bastard drew his sword, struck his prince and then you set your wolf on him.” Cersei said to the girl.

“That’s not what happened!” Arya cried.

“Yes, it is!” Joffrey argued, “They all attack me and the bastard stuck my sword in the ground.

“Liar!” Arya accused.

“Shut up!” Joffrey weakly retorted.

“Enough!” Robert bellowed, “He tells me one thing, she tells me another. Seven hells! What am I to make of this? Where’s your other daughter, Ned?”

“In bed asleep.” he answered.

“No, she’s not.” Cersei said with a fake smile, “Sansa, come here, darling.”

To his shock, Ned watched his oldest girl nervously emerge from the crowd. As she did, she refused to make eye contact with her father or siblings.

“Now then, little dove. Tell us what happened.” Cersei said, raising her nose at everyone.

“Not yet.” Robert interrupted before turning his gaze to Jon, “Lad, you’re the one facing the worst of it all. So, out with it. Tell us what happened.”

“Your Grace, as you know, I am charged with protecting the daughters of the Hand of the King. A duty I pleaded for to Lord Stark, myself. I swore to protect and defend them from anyone who would attempt to harm them; even if they were a member of the royal family. The butcher’s boy and Lady Arya were playing by the river with sticks, pretending they were swords, under my close supervision. Then Prince Joffrey and Lady Sansa came over to them, both of them having too much wine from a skin they brought. The prince proceeded to mock the butcher’s boy and drew his sword on the lad before digging it into his cheek. Lady Arya was defending her friend when she struck the prince the one time with her stick. The prince then began to swing his sword at her and threatened to kill her. His exact words were, ‘I’ll gut you, you little shit!’ Before he could, I drew my sword and stopped his strike. I was doing my duty as her protector. Aye, I did strike the prince, but it was to get him away from Lady Arya. I proceeded to disarm the prince and I embedded his sword into the ground. While our backs were turned to head back to the inn, the prince drew his dagger on Lady Arya, but her Direwolf prevented him. That is what happened, Your Grace.”

“No, he’s lying!” Joffrey wailed as he jabbed his finger towards Jon.

“Silence!” Robert bellowed before softening his gaze at Sansa, “Alright, child. You tell me what happened. Is my son telling the truth, or is your brother? Tell it true; it’s a great crime to lie to a king.”

Looking at her father, then Joffrey, then Jon, then back at Robert, Sansa hesitated before weakly saying, “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Whispers filled the hall as Sansa said this. But Jon could only look at his sister in betrayal before dropping his head, preparing himself to meet his end.

“It all happened so fast. I didn’t see-”

“Liar!” Arya shouted as she slapped her sister’s head and pulled on her hair, “Liar, liar, liar!”

“Hey!” Ned shouted as he separated his squabbling daughters, “Arya! Enough!”

“She’s as wild that animals of hers.” Cersei smirked, “I want her punished.”

“What would you have me do?” Robert asked, “Whip her through the streets? Dammit! Children fight. It’s over.”

“Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life.” Cersei chastised.

“Ned,” he said ignoring her, “See to it that your daughter is disciplined. I’ll do the same to my son.”

“Gladly, Your Grace. But what of my son?” Ned asked, not wavering in his tone of authority.

“The bastard struck the crown prince, your heir. Execute him and be done with it.” Cersei casually said to her husband as he tried to walk away from it all.

“No!” Arya protested as she struggled to break free from her father’s grasp.

“Robert,” Ned said almost desperately, “I implore you. Spare him. For the bond we share that was made with the man he’s named after, spare him!”

“…I will not take the life of anyone’s child tonight.” Robert growled as he tightened his fists, “But, harming the heir to the throne cannot go unpunished. Ten lashes. Ten lashes and let us be done with this damn night. Take him outside.”

“Father, no! Stop this!” Arya begged as her tears finally fell.

“At least let me be the one to do it.” Ned pleaded as his son was pulled to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Ned. But I can’t risk you holding back just because he’s yours.” Robert said, no happier than his friend, “This is the king’s justice. It must be done by the king.”

“And the direwolf?” Cersei asked.

“We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace.” the soldier who captured Jon informed.

“They have another wolf.” Cersei smoothly reminded.

“…So be it.” Robert relented.

“You can’t mean it.” Ned hushed to the king.

“A direwolf’s no pet. Get her a dog, she’ll be happier for it.” Robert dismissed as he stormed out while Sansa began to sob over the fate of her pet.

“Where is the beast?” Cersei asked without any source of empathy.

“Chained up outside, Your Grace.” one of her guards replied.

“Ser Illyan, do me the honor.” she smirked to mute executioner.

“No.” Ned refused, “Jory, take the girls to their rooms. If it must be done, I will do it myself.”

“Is this some trick?” Cersei asked.

“The wolf is of the north. She deserves better than a southern butcher.” Ned firmly said in defiance. As his weeping daughters were taken to their rooms, Ned forced himself outside to settle his king’s order. Once outside, he saw the grim, scared face of the Hound leading his horse through with a boy’s corpse draped over the saddle.

“The butcher’s boy.” Ned exhaled in horror as the brute walked past him, “You rode him down?”

“He ran. But not very fast.” Sandor grimly replied, not taking any pleasure in what he had done, but not letting it weaken him as it would any other man.

It was horrendous thing, the death of a child. But Ned knew no amount of grief, anger or any other emotion would bring the boy back. So he marched ahead to the stables where Lady was chained. When he reached the living symbol of his house, a creature that personified the deeds of his ancestors, the breathing image of the beast on the banner he carried into battle and wore on his person every day his entire life, all Ned could do was sigh in remorse. Neither he, his siblings, nor his ancestors for several generations had a Direwolf companion, and now he was robbing his own child of hers.

Despite Lady’s size, she was still a pup; a naïve, gentle pup much like Sansa. So, kneeled at the wolf’s side, affectionately stroked her jaw and scratched her ear before pulling out his dagger and quickly snuffing out the poor thing’s life. After he did, Ned began to notice the sound of a large group coming near him. When the light of the torches revealed who it was, he was racked with anger.

“I thought it best to bring him to you before it happened.” Robert curtly said as he held a torch in one hand, and a bull-whip in the other. Behind the fat king was Cersei, Joffrey, Jamie Jon bound in his chains, Ser Barristan, Sandor, and a group of Lannister soldiers.

“Tie him to the stable!” Robert shouted, not at all pleased with what he was about to do.

Following the king’s orders, the Lannister men removed most of the chains, stripped Jon of his armor and tunic, and restrained Jon’s wrists to the wooden beams of the stable. Once Jon was prepared, Robert took a moment to discreetly speak to the young man.

“Listen, lad,” he muttered so no one could hear him, “I don’t want to do this anymore than you want it to happen. But it has to be done. But if you’re quick enough, you can take a swig of this to dull the pain.”

With the darkness of the night giving him cover, Robert was able to discreetly show him a small vial of milk of the poppy. For a moment, a weaker part of Jon was tempted to take it, however, his warrior spirt quickly slayed it.

“Pain lets us know we are alive, Your Grace.” Jon muttered back. Moved by the boy’s strong will and fearlessness, Robert growled in frustration for having to punish such a brave and honorable young man.

“Jon Snow of House Stark,” Robert said in his kingly voice, “For striking the crown prince of the seven kingdoms of Westeros, I, Robert of the House Baratheon, first of my name and lord of the seven kingdoms decree you shall be punished by ten lashes.”

Not to show the boy any disrespect, Robert used all the strength he could muster in his fat body as he tossed the whip. As he did, for every strike on Jon’s back, Cersei and Joffrey maliciously smirked as the watched the bleeding marks form on his back. Ned had to use every ounce of restraint to keep himself from drawing Ice and killing every last one of them. Although the roles were reversed, Ned felt as though he was emotionally experiencing what his elder brother went through when he and their fathered were tortured by the Mad King.

However, through it all, for all ten lashes on his back, Jon never gave the smug Southerners the satisfaction of hearing any sound of pain coming from his mouth. Instead, even though none of them could see it, Jon wore a look of fury that would have made the ancestors of both sides of his family proud.

After the final lash was given, Robert threw the whip down and stormed off, mostly likely to drink himself stupid, again. After he did, Cersei, Joffrey, and the rest of the Lannisters dispersed from the crowd and either returned to their duties or prepared themselves for sleep. After they did, Ned rushed to Jon and freed him from his chains.

“Oh, my boy.” he muttered as he gently caught Jon before he fell on his wounds, “I’m so proud of you.”

“It hurts!” Jon croaked as his tears stung his eyes.

“I know. I know.” Ned exhaled before kissing Jon’s head in comfort.

“My lord Hand.” Sandor interjected as he came over with a makeshift stretcher, “Set him on this.”

“What is this? Some sort of ruse so you can brutalize my son later? Like you did the butcher’s boy?” Ned asked harshly as he protected his son.

“Tis no ruse, my lord.” Sandor calmly replied as he laid out the stretcher.

“Then why?”

“The king may be a fat fuck now,” Sandor bluntly began, “But he still possesses more strength than most men in their prime. Your bastard’s got balls to take a beating from him and not make a sound. The old man’s gone to fetch a maester.”

“What old man?” Ned asked before Ser Barristan jogged over with one of the maesters Robert brought along in case anything happened to him or his children.

“Lord Stark, we must move him, quickly.” Barristan urged as the maester examined the wounds.

“They don’t appear to be infected, but we should have them cleaned just in case.” the maester suggested after examining the injuries.

“Very well.” he nodded before gently laying his son on the stretcher. Once Jon had been cleaned and bandaged, he was forced to lay on his stomach in bed for the rest of the night. As he laid there, wincing every so often in pain, Ned was reminded of the last time he saw his boy like this when he was almost lost to his fever. And, unfortunately, he was also reminded of the last time he saw the boy’s mother alive.

“ _Promise me, Ned_.” he heard in his head.

“I’m trying.” he whispered in shame to the ghost of his sister.

“Father?” Jon weakly asked, having woken up from the pain.

“Shh.” Ned soothed as he smoothed out his son’s curls, “Go back to sleep. You need your rest.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Jon weakly said as he was lulled back to sleep.

“No, dear boy.” Ned said with guilt as images of the life Jon should have had flashed through his mind. Of being showered with hugs and kisses from his two mothers and grandmothers, his birth-father teaching him to fight and play the harp, running and playing with his half-Dornish siblings. Of being the Targaryen prince he was supposed to be and the life he would have had were it not for his foolish uncle suggesting a marriage for his mother. “It is I who am sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you all know, while Joffrey distinctly said something different to Arya when he had his sword at her throat by the river, I will NOT be using that word at any point in this story. Ok? No use of the C-Word. I try to be a gentlemen in life, as I was raised to be, and I do not like that word or the N-word. So, don't expect to see either for any reason at all in this fic.
> 
> Aside from that, what do you think? I'm aware I kinda dragged out the beginning (as an FFN reader pointed out once), but that was on because of multiple accounts of losing my train of thought and wanting to get those details out of the way early on in this story.
> 
> Regarding Jon's actions at the river, let me explain that NOW since I have no idea when the next chapter will be ready (I'm currently working on an actual book I can get published).
> 
> Jon's actions are a blend of "The Wolf's Blood" and "Waking the Dragon." It's basically a combination of the instinctive battle-fueled rage the blood of his ancestors gives him. In this fic, Jon is the first of his "kind;" the mixture of a full-blooded Targaryen and a full-blooded Stark. So, expect to see both the magics of Old Valyria and the First Men displayed from him. This isn't meant to make him OP, but it will serve in vital points throughout the story.
> 
> Also, let me clear the air for these two topics since I had one reader on FFN basically chew me out for this. I HATE Sansa and Catelyn, guys. I do. There are very few versions of Sansa that I can enjoy, but there are NO versions of Catelyn I can like. Okay? This is not going to primarily be a Sansa/Cat bashing fic, but I will not be ignoring how terrible they were.
> 
> Cat and Jon are going to reunite during the war, so there will be plenty of scenes between them, all but one will be very antagonistic. As for Sansa, she's going to stick with what happened with her up until a certain point WAY down the road. So, no, there will be no Pro-Sansa aspects of this story, at all. 
> 
> Don't like it, don't read this. Just don't be a troll and fill the comments sections with your petty rants. She won in the show so that should be enough for you. This is a fix-it-fic.
> 
> Anyway, hopefully you all liked this and will provide me with lots of feedback. I LOVE comments (just not from trolls), and I look forward to them every time I post a chapter. I'm also very eager to talk to you guys in the comments and will try to reply as soon as I know you have commented. I'm still new to this site so this might not be right but, please leave kudos and subscribe if you liked this and are eager for more!
> 
> Bye!


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